The Phoenix and Turtle
by Taelyn
Summary: Waking up "the morning after" without any memory of the night before? Bad sign. And when Hermione and Draco wake up hopelessly entwined and clueless one morning, it's only a matter of time before their lives become just as irritatingly tangled together.
1. The Morning After

**YOU REALLY NEED TO READ THIS A/N--Important**: Sorry about the caps (I hate the overuse of them too) but I needed to catch everyone's attention. **There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night**. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 1: The Morning After**

__

_"The dream is over. This is the morning."_

_CS Lewis  
_

It was light out when Hermione began to wake up. The sun's rays slid in through the cracks between the crimson drapes covering her windows and slowly moved farther and farther towards the top of her bed. As it reached her eyes, she grimaced.

"It can't be morning yet," she thought, burying her face further into her pillow.

Saturday--a day without the excitement of classes or the fresh smell of parchment and ink in the air. A day where she couldn't help feeling that, if she were to leave her own room and return to the Gryffindor commons, Ron and Harry would already have decided to go on some harebrained adventure and gotten themselves hurt.

For the fifth time this month.

And she would have to decide whether to act the part of Head Girl or of their best mate and face either the disapproving looks from the Gryffindor prefects or silence from the two boys.

So she let herself relax back into the covers of her bed, and enjoy the momentary peace that came with having her own room.

No slightly irritating remarks from Ron, mood swings from Harry or volleys of insults from the Slytherins until she forced herself to get up, and with the thought of, for once, putting everything off—if only for ten minutes more—she slid further into the covers and sighed as a warm hand slipped across her waist and tightened on her side.

Wait.

Her mind half-asleep, Hermione suddenly noticed that something wasn't quite right. So, still hardly out of the dream world, she quickly made a mental list of her surroundings.

"_I'm in bed," _she thought, "_and I'm in one piece, meaning I'm_ _probably_ _not_ _in_ _the_ _infirmary_." So there was nothing wrong there.

"_I haven't kicked all of the covers off, and the room's not drafty._" She hurriedly checked off the list and frowned inwardly, trying to think of what exactly could be off as fingers began trailing lightly across her navel.

And she suddenly knew exactly what was wrong

Her eyes flew open, her mind now very awake as she screeched and scrambled away from the offending arm.

Unfortunately, Hermione had already been on the edge of the bed, and, with an "oomph," she landed very hard on the cold wooden floor.

Ignoring the pain in the lower areas of her body that had impacted with the ground, she relaxed very slightly as it registered that the arm _was_ attached to a corresponding body.

(A certain twin enterprise had begun selling twigs that transfigured into ultra realistic body parts and the newest fad was to scare an unsuspecting friend--or enemy--with a bloody leg as they woke up or a severed finger in their morning coffee.)

But then she noticed the tousled white blond hair beginning to peek out from under the comforter and the slender pale arm just beginning to move from the spot where she had been moments ago.

And when the aristocratic face of Draco Malfoy suddenly rose from out of the pile of sheets and pillows, Hermione couldn't help but do what any seventh year, Head Girl Gryffindor would have done.

She screamed.

Very loudly and without pause for a long enough time that, later, Draco couldn't help but marvel at her impressive lung capacity.

Of course, being awakened by the keen shrills of anyone on a Saturday morning would have made any Slytherin cranky.

But it wasn't until he opened his eyes and realized that the sound wasn't coming from the talented vocal cords of just any girl--and that not only was he in Hermione Granger's room, but he was in her bed, under her covers, very naked--

--that he started screaming too.

_He looked down on her, watching her move softly up and down with every breath, studying the chestnut curls that surrounded her angelic face. Her eyes were closed, but he could remember them—how he would drown in them. In her.   
  
So as she, somewhere off in dreamland, slept peacefully, he leaned down and kissed her softly on her forehead, stood up and whispered something that even he could hardly hear himself say . . .  
_

**Author's Note:** That last part was a flashback. Read the note at the beginning of this chapter if you didn't understand. For anyone who is re-reading this first chapter, I'm doing a little reconstruction, so the formats of the chapters are going to vary until I am done. Hopefully, that won't bother you. I really hope you liked it—this being my first fic and all, I could use some nice reviews (bats eyelashes winningly) But hey! If you don't want to take 30 seconds to tell me if this is as bad of a story as I think it is, that's fine (the guilt trip didn't work either? Damn, you people are hard to break!) ;-)

****


	2. What?

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 2: What?**

"_As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven,_

_ it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."  
  
John Lancaster Spalding  
  
_

To all of those that walked down the hall near a certain portrait that led to the Head Girl's bedroom, the noise was hardly ignorable. But, as Peeves had, in the past days, been up to his tricks and many of the spirits that resided in Hogwarts would sometimes reminisce with a little too much emotion, most paid no attention.

If it hadn't been for a silencing charm that was beginning to fade though, the noise and its echoes would have sent many running for professors—if not for cover.  
  
When Draco finally stopped, his cheeks were flushed pink and he quickly noticed that the  hair-gelling spell he administered dutifully had worn off during the night, causing it to flop irritatingly down into his eyes. Making sure that the crimson silk sheets covered all of the appropriate parts, he twisted around to fully face Hermione.  
  
. . . And then turned right back around again.  
  
Hermione, like him, wasn't wearing a single piece of clothing.  
  
Hermione, unlike him, didn't have any sheets to use to cover up.  
  
Of course, the screaming started up again when she noticed what he had, but it ended abruptly after Draco felt a sheet being pulled off the bed. She was hopefully wrapping herself up in it, for there was no sign of clothing on her side of the bed and he doubted that she would be courageous enough to walk to the side of the room that he was facing (all of the clothing was piled in a neat stack in the far corner) He was about to turn around—she being covered or not, he didn't care—when he felt a very hard smack on his head.  
  
"Hey!!! You stupid mudblood--what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, watching the stars around his head dance up and down.  
  
Hermione stared at him viciously. "You . . . you . . . you bastard! You did this!"  
  
Draco stared at her in amazement. "What? I hardly think that--" he gestured to the bed, "whatever you think I did is something that I would do in a sane state of mind, I would think." 

Hermione looked at him cynically (and perhaps a little perplexed as she tried to sort through his last muddled sentence).

But instead of mumbling on, He regained his composure and snorted scornfully at the furious girl. "You're not exactly up to my standards, are you? You're not worth a word from me—much less a good shag--and you think that I set this up?

And then the exact situation—and what it lended itself to—hit him.  
  
"Oh Merlin, disgusting! I just slept with a mudblood," he choked out, his face growing steadily paler as he heaved melodramatically.  
  
But Hermione didn't seem to be listening. "You must have drugged me--that's it--you drugged me and took me here and . . ." she stopped, her eyes widening, processing what Draco had said, and whirled around.  
  
"We . . . we . . ." she began, her breath catching in her throat, "you think we . . . slept together?"   
  
"No Granger, both of us woke up naked in bed together because we had decided to play 'mediwizard'" he snarled, pushing his hair out of his face, his mouth pulling into a smirk that could have been a smile if his eyes weren't so cold. Then he began to look queasy again at what must have been the though of it.  
  
"You drugged me--why else can't I remember a thing about last night?" she shrieked suddenly, and would have jumped at Draco if not for the fact that she had cocooned herself inside the bed sheets.  
  
He looked at her for a second, before hissing "I can't remember anything either, you stupid mudblood and again, I wouldn't ever touch you--you're dirt!!!"  
  
"Oh be quiet Malfoy, don't those insults ever get old?" she retorted. But then, what he said about his absent memory registered.  
  
"You're lying," she said, almost questioningly. "You remember—you must have done this."  
  
"You are really dense for someone that everyone believes is so smart," Malfoy muttered. "_No_ I didn't do anything to you-at least, I can't remember doing anything. And I'm glad I don't," he added. "That really is disgusting."  
  
Hermione set her jaw and looked ready to begin yelling again—when she heard a voice and a knock come from the other side of her door.  
  
"Hermione, Are you alright? I heard screams. Hermione? I'm coming in, okay?"

It was Ginny.  
  
Ginny who knew the password to her dorm.  
  
Ginny who never listened when Hermione told her not to come in.  
  
Ginny who was one of her best friend's sister and the other's girlfriend.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
_  
"You don't mean it" she said.  
  
He grabbed her arm. "I do--I've never meant anything more in my life."  
  
She jerked away and started at the white imprints that he had made on her small arm.  
  
"I don't believe you."  
_  
  
**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed: I really am grateful. And anyone who hasn't: please do.  I really don't want to beg.


	3. No Goodbye Kiss?

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 3: No Goodbye Kiss?**

_"'Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:  
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,  
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;  
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate-tree:  
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.'"  
W.S.  
  
_

"Shit!" Hermione whispered, her brown eyes wide, as she turned on her heels to face the door. "Ginny!! Please wait ten seconds!! I . . . I don't have any clothes on."  
  
Which was true—all she had covering her was a sheet off her bed—but that was hardly the problem of the moment.  
  
"Fine!" said Ginny impatiently. "But I'm counting!" She did, like Ron, have a very temperamental attitude which flared up randomly, and she hardly ever compromised. Hermione had learned to tolerate her mood swings over the past years as they became closer friends, but she still never knew what to expect from the fiery redhead, especially in the morning.  
  
"Thank Merlin she's in a good mood." Hermione muttered as she spun quickly around to face the bed again. "You need to hide . . ." she started, then scowled.  
  
Draco was lounging like a king on her bed once more. His legs crossed and his arms resting under his head, Hermione thought momentarily that if it had been anyone other than Malfoy, it would have been quite an attractive image. He was still wrapped in the sheets, but he hardly looked like he was about to move. He smirked at her nastily.  
  
"1. . ." began Ginny, as Hermione just stared at Malfoy  
  
"What?? Don't what your little bitch of a friend to see me?" he sneered. "Couldn't have your two golden boys find out that you slept with Draco Malfoy?" He laughed to himself. "Ashamed, Granger?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ashamed, are you? Then you perhaps feel an inkling of how I feel." He crossed his legs, and laid back farther into the pillow.  
  
"3 . . ."  
  
"Not ashamed," Hermione hissed, trying to keep her voice low. "Just terribly disgusted."  
  
"4 . . ."  
  
Hermione saw what a flicker of something on Malfoy's face, but then it returned to a stony frown as his eyebrows shot in and his eyes narrowed.  
  
"No, I don't think I'll move," he began, his voice a deadly whisper that reminded Hermione of a certain Potions professor. "I think I like it right here."  
  
"6 . . ."  
  
Hermione looked at him desperately but then thought of something. "You don't want this to be known of any more than I." she said shrewdly. "It would tarnish your reputation and your father wouldn't be too happy, would he?"  
  
He looked at her, all hints of amusement gone, but he didn't move, and, as Hermione began to think that she might have to beg, she heard the door turn and spun around.  
  
"I couldn't wait any longer, I need to talk to you," said Ginny as she came through the doorway. She looked at Hermione impatiently.  
  
"You aren't even dressed yet. And . . ." she broke off, staring past her friend at the state of her four poster bed.  
  
"Ginny, it's not what you think--" Hermione began, but Ginny cut her off with a gasp  
  
"Oh my," she said as she pressed her fingers to her mouth in a satyr of what she had seen some of the more prim girls at school do. "And you haven't even made your bed! Naughty girl!" she mock reprimanded her with a smirk on her face.  
  
Hermione whirled around to stare at the now relatively empty bed.  
  
"Oh, right," she said laughing as she tried to regain control of her breathing once more. "Yes, well, I haven't made my bed yet and I'm still clad in a sheet toga, so you better leave--"  
  
"Nonsense!" stated Ginny, missing the look of helplessness on Hermione's face as she moved further into the room. "I need to talk to you and it's not like we haven't seen each other undressed—we did share a bathroom and a dorm for all of last year," she pointed out . . .

. . . And then turned as she heard a weird noise from the other side of the room. It sounded like a snicker almost . . .  
  
Hermione had heard it too, and saw the questioning look on Ginny's face. "My stomach," she began, laughing a little too happily. "I haven't eaten since, errr, Thursday," she ended flustered, hoping that her friend—who was very clever—would for once believe her.  
  
"Oh," was all that Ginny said as she shrugged her shoulders.  
  
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and started again.  
  
"So, could you go save me a seat at the table, maybe even fix me a plate?" she asked as she grabbed Ginny by her elbow and led her to the door.  
  
"Hey!" said Ginny, wrenching her arm out of Hermione's grasp and rubbing it. "If you want to act looney this morning, fine! But we're talking at breakfast—promise?" she said as she walked out and stopped right outside the door.  
  
"Yes, of course," Hermione returned, obviously relieved. She smiled as Ginny gave her a weird look. "Bye!" and before Ginny could say anything more, she shut the door in her face.  
  
And breathed a long sigh as she heard Ginny sniff indignantly and then begin to walk off.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked venomously as she turned around.  
  
Malfoy was again seated on the bed very comfortably.  
  
"Hopefully not you," he snarked. "Look," he began, getting up and heading towards the pile of clothes, a sheet tied now more securely around his waist. "You're expected in the dining hall soon--thanks to your very 'intelligent' ramblings to that bitch Weasley. And seeing as your friends are as clingy as a group of two year olds, they'll all probably notice if you don't show up." He turned around to finish but, before he could stop it, her hand had landed with a resounding crack on his cheek.  
  
As she pulled back to slap him again, he caught arm.

"You fucking bitch!" he snarled, grabbing her other hand as she attempted to hit him.

With nothing but pure malice in her eyes, she started at him.

"Don't," she said, trembling with fury, "ever call Ginny or me that ever again."

He looked down at her, his gray eyes cold, slits. Then he leaned down until his mouth was beside her face—so close that he could almost taste her skin and she could feel him breathing in and out on her neck.

"Bitch," he said and the word vibrated in Hermione's ear.

Now, even though Malfoy was a good deal taller than her and even though she could hardly match the strength he had gained from playing Quidditch for all those years, Hermione was able to pull her arm away from his iron grasp and, swiftly, she brought her slightly long and sharp (from her as yet unbroken habit of biting) nails down the side of his cheek.

Draco, terribly surprised at her actions, let go of her and pushed her away hard enough that she fell onto the bed behind her. His hand immediately went to his face, where he felt the warm liquid now seeping from three long stripes on his cheek. He brought his hand back in front of him and saw beads of scarlet falling slowly down his fingers, tracing paths along the lines.

Hermione put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. To have drawn blood was both unexpected and horrifying. She—the Head Girl, the more civilized of the pair and certainly the less violent—had caused what was now dripping down Malfoy's face.   
  
"Oh Merlin," she began, and, looking down, she saw that during the brawl, the sheet that had been covering her had come undone and was now puddled at her feet.  
  
Malfoy, seeing her blush, turned away so she could cover herself again.  
  
She looked up, after fastening the sheet once again and stared at the back of his head.  
  
"Draco, I'm--"  
  
"Just shut the hell up, get dressed, and leave," he said with what sounded like an almost curt tone of voice.  
  
Self-righteousness boiled up inside Hermione.

How dare he? He had deserved that slap and she--being the daft fool she was--was going to apologize? To Malfoy? And how dare he tell her to leave her own bedroom!  
  
Now see here, you ignorant prat," she began, eyes flashing. But her anger quailed as she saw the look on Draco's face as he spun around.  
  
"Leave!" he yelled, his eyes dangerous slits, his cheeks as pale as snow except for three crimson lines of blood paralleling his right cheekbone. His whole body was shaking slightly as he turned to lean upon the wall and steady his erratic breathing.  
  
Perhaps if only because of the element of surprise, Hermione gathered her robes and her wand (which she found lying next to her nightstand) and went into the adjoined bathroom to dress. When she returned, he, along with his clothes and wand, was gone.  
  
And her bed was made.   
  
_"I can't breath, I can't breath," she repeated frantically, rocking back and forth in her spot on the ground.  
  
"It's gone, I promise," he said, his arms limp at his sides, his eyes watching her every movement.  
  
She looked around. It was snowing and her robes were soaked. There was no moon.  
  
He watched as she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed from the cold and stained with now-dry tears. Her eyes filled with pain. The memory of pain. He could see her every thought in those eyes._

_"I'm so cold," she whispered._

**Author's Note: **Okay, does everyone understand now how this story is working? I'm sorry if it's confusing to anyone—please tell me if I can make it any easier to understand. Anyway, I hope you like it so far (and that the changes are okay, to anyone who's rereading it). And just to remind you all, I love you guys so much just for reading through this author's note.


	4. That Old Cliche

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 4: That Old Clich**

_"To be or not to be—that is the question."_

_                                                       W.S_  
  
Draco had hardly ever had to run in the hallways of Hogwarts. He had never had the gall to do anything that might have gotten him expelled or put him in a place where he would have had to flee quickly.

But now, with blood streaming down the side of his face and thoughts of what had happened moments ago still swirling in his mind, he didn't slow down from a run as he made his way to the Slytherin commons.  
  
The hallway in front of him seemed to stretch out longer and his own feet seemed ready to give up at the slightest chance. With every step it felt that he would fall onto his knees--he had never been so tired. The sound of his footsteps on the marble resounded in his head, making it pulse with every beat of his heart. This alone was irritating enough to make him grind his teeth and wish that he was alone and able to scream without being carted off to some loony bin.  
  
And it didn't help at all that every student that he passed stopped and stared at him in fascination. A group of first years (probably from Hufflepuff, he thought with disgust) actually had the nerve to stand in front of him and point straight at him.  
  
"Idiots," he muttered as he mentally convinced himself not to turn around and hit every single person who had been rude enough to look at him with some hex or curse. The little voice in his head that he not heard in a very long time whispered "Bad idea," and "can you really blame them?"  
  
"Yes," he answered out loud—probably a little louder than he would have wanted, as he was trying to appear sane. Yet, even as he contradicted his conscience, he understood how strange he must really look.  
  
To any passer-by, a calm and normal Draco was intriguing, if not terrifying. He was rather tall and well built, and his presence was only added to by the swirling black robes and cloaks that he favored.  
  
But, as any first or second year would explain to you, it was his eyes that would send them backing into corners to let him pass. Slate gray, storm gray—call them what you like: they held power and a certain contempt for everything that sent many into cold sweats with just a glance.  
  
And as he walked down the hall that morning? It was those same eyes—filled with an anger visible to each that looked in them—that bored into each and every person that he passed. His cheek was dripping with blood, and the three scratches curved in eerily only adding to the fury in his visage.  
  
Who wouldn't stare?  
  
But Draco didn't care. The boy who usually kept every emotion under the surface was almost gasping from the anger that coursed through him. With every heart beat, he could feel his blood pumping through his chest, to his face, to the cuts. With every heartbeat, he couldn't help but think to himself "she hurt me."  
  
Hermione Granger—the stupid girl that was every teacher's pet. Who was best friends with the asshole Potter and the dumbfuck Weasley. Who could never do _anything_ wrong.  
  
("Though she can't say the same for 'anyone', anymore, can she?'" he thought, almost bitterly)  
  
And it was Granger who didn't ever respond to his glares with fear, who never shied away from him in the hallway, but instead matched him look for look.  
  
He had reached the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. "Asgarth," he mumbled thoughtlessly to the bare stone wall, which slid open to reveal the Slytherin common room.  
  
He hurried in, ignoring the shadows from the fireplace that jumped and danced ominously on the walls in surrounding him. The room was empty and relief flooded into him. He wouldn't have to explain his disappearance or the three scratches down the side of his face. Having one less thing to worry about, his mind shifted again, back to her--  
  
--And she had hit him--not just a slap as she had done before. She had drawn his blood.  
  
A girl.  
  
A Gryffindor.  
  
A mudblood.  
  
And perhaps he shouldn't have been so angry. Perhaps he would have been indifferent if not for--  
  
"No," he said, refusing to think about it, about her, anymore.  
  
Quickly, before any of the Slytherins had the chance to wander into the common room, Draco headed into his room.  
  
And thanked Merlin that it was his alone. After spending all of his first and second year in close proximity to a sleeping Crabbe and Goyle, he had begged his father to pull a few strings. It, unsurprisingly, had produced results. He was now alone. Dumbledore hadn't been happy but he had had to agree—poor Draco was ill and needed his solitude.  
  
Which was true. Draco suffered from insomnia and the groans and grumbles of his past roommates had done nothing to help it.  
  
Of course, it wasn't as if he got any sleep in his own bedchambers anyway.  
  
But his father had said that every Malfoy deserved a place of his own--his own silence.  
  
Draco sat on his bed. He reached down and fingered the heavily embroidered silk duvet, tracing his lines along the emerald snakes that he had asked for. The fire at the other end of the room hissed and spit sparks up into the air and he watched the flames flicker up and down hypnotically.  
  
His father.  
  
Memories of pain, of disappointment, of worry and yearning and lost hopes suddenly flooded him.  
  
He remembered--that summer, the witch who had remarked how like his father he really was, the look on Lucius's face--hardly pride. His own feelings--the simultaneous hope and fear that the witch was right.  
  
For Lucius was proud, strong. He kept his emotions hidden well. He was powerful and rich. But above all, he was Draco's father, and, in every boy, there is a deep desire to not only please his father, but to be him.  
  
Yet, this was also the Lucius that had lied and bribed his way out of Azkaban when he should have stood up for his beliefs. The Lucius Malfoy who had laughed countless times when Draco had tried to explain to him his hopes of being the best Quidditch player in all of England. The Lucius Malfoy who drank, who became angry, who lashed out.  
  
The Lucius Malfoy that had hit his wife.  
  
And Draco suddenly knew how much he was so like and yet so unlike his father.  
  
When Hermione had struck him, it had taken every ounce of self-restraint that he had not to back-hand her, throw her against a wall--he knew how little strength you really needed to have to hurt someone of you knew how.

"Draco, please leave," his mother told him quietly, looking at him, her eyes pleading with him  
  
But Draco, a five year old Draco, would not leave his seat at the dinner table, as hard as he tried to obey his mother. He seemed almost glued to his chair and, instead of moving (which seemed impossible) just stared fearfully at the dark figure of his father--that sat across from him.  
  
Lucius Malfoy, his hand gripping his wine cup tensely, stared mercilessly at his wife and narrowed his eyes menacingly.  
  
"Will you please explain to me Narcissa," he began, his voice low and dangerous, "how in the hell you managed to accidentally set free one of our house elves?"  
  
Narcissa didn't reply or even look at her husband. All hints of her usual proud air had disappeared as she looked down and sank lower into her chair  
  
"Please, Draco, please leave," she whispered.  
  
"Do not dare ignore me!" Lucius yelled, his arm flinging suddenly from his cup and reaching over to grasp Narcissa by the hair. He pulled her closer, forcing her to stand up out of her chair and limp until she reached him. Her eyes were filled with tears. "You will answer me now, you bitch!"  
  
But instead of complying, she only looked up from her tears and pleaded with him.  
  
"Please, not in front of Draco."  
  
With a flick of his wrist, Lucius sent his wife sprawling against the hard wooden floor. She lay there, crying softly into her sleeve, never even attempting to get up. Lucius stood up from the table, took once last gulp from his drink and walked silently out of the dining hall.  
  
Draco just sat in his chair, staring at his cold and uneaten dinner.

Draco shook himself out of his daze and tore his eyes away from the fireplace. With quick movements, he walked over to his armoire and placed his hands on the top to steady himself.  
  
He hated it. To be so like him and so unlike him. To, with every sinew of his body, wish to be his father, and, in the same moment, loathe that very thought.  
  
"My curse," he whispered, looking in the mirror at his white-blond hair, his pointed chin, his gray eyes.  
  
And suddenly, violently, he smashed his fist through the mirror, sending glass shards flying like leaves to the ground.  
  
He looked at his now shredded hand, glinting with tiny pieces of glass in the now fresh wounds.  
  
He watched as the blood slowly began to well up.  
  
"My curse."   
  
_"What about them?" she whispered, her eyes suddenly filled with worry. "What about her?"  
  
"They won't know, they don't have to," he murmured, dismissing it and leaning down to kiss her.  
  
She jerked away, suddenly cold.  
  
"Of course not," she snapped. "I'm nothing important that they should know about. I'm nothing, right?" She stared at him as if she had never seen him before.  
  
He sat up, pushed his hair out of his eyes.  
  
"That's not what I meant." He said quietly, looking down and twisting his fingers in the sheets beneath him.  
  
"Then how did you mean it?" her voice, though tired and hoarse, rose in pitch and volume to a shriek._

**Author's Note:** So? How is it? Review please! I have more chapters, but it's taking me a while to type them (I wrote them in a spiral notebook, sorry!) and I don't want to post them all if I don't know what you think of the last two! Please Review! (pretty pretty please, with sugar on top??)


	5. Fireworks, baby

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The ****Phoenix**** and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 5: Fireworks, baby**

_"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances:_

_ if there is any reaction, both are transformed."_

_Carl Jung_

Hermione would have liked to stay in her bedroom, lie on her bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, but Draco had had a point about Ginny expecting her.

'I hate when that happens,' she thought. 'Agreeing with Draco? What's gotten into me?'

She stared at herself blankly in the mirror--her hair was sticking out in abnormal places and she had large circles under her eyes.

Thank Merlin she wasn't like Parvati or Lavender (both obsessed with looking perfect) or she would have stayed in front of that mirror for hours, frantically trying to get her hair to behave and the color to come back to her cheeks. (Who wouldn't be pale after such an encounter with anyone, much less Draco?)

But Hermione just shrugged and tucked a stray piece or her hair behind her ear. She stared dazedly at her reflection as thoughts ran through her head.

'I slept with Malfoy,' she thought, staring straight through the mirror, before turning and mechanically walking toward the door.

'I slept with Malfoy.' The door closed behind her, catching the end of her robes. As she walked on, she hardly noticed the loud tearing noise--a good portion of her robe was left lying on the ground.

She turned on her heels, and began walking down the hall towards the dining room, ignoring the two women in one portrait who looked down their noses at her and began whispering to one another. (Who WAS that young man that had just left THIS young woman's bedroom? And what business did he have with her in the morning? And why was he bleeding?)

'I slept with Malfoy.' It just kept repeating itself over and over in her head, it wouldn't stop, and, beyond that, she knew that what it was saying-- oh Merlin--was actually true.

"I slept with Malfoy," she muttered aloud and visibly shuddered at the thought.

"Gesundheit my dear," replied an old man looking down at her from an oil painting of a study.

'I really need to get a hold of myself,' she thought, resisting the urge to fall to the ground and thank Merlin that it was some old and half-deaf painting that had heard her ramblings and not . . . well . . . anyone else.

'You slept with Malfoy--how could you even think of calming down?' some malicious voice murmured in her head.

"I know what I did, just Shut Up!!" she hissed aloud, which only brought stares from a pair of first years passing her. She gulped and smoothed her hair erratically.

"Okay," she whispered, quiet enough so no one could hear her, "Soothing thoughts, soothing thoughts."

'I slept with Malfoy' it echoed in her head again and she almost cried out from the indignity of it. She kept walking--hoping that a nice breakfast with her friends with give her a reason to calm down.

But she didn't stop talking aloud to herself.

"--almost glad I can't remember a thing," she mumbled.

"What's that?" Some voice asked from behind her.

Hermione froze. "Oh bloody hell," she thought, cursing herself for being so disconcerted, as she turned around to face--

"Dean!! Hello!!" she began, smiling so brightly that Dean nearly yelped at the chipperness so early in the morning.

"What don't you remember?" He asked curiously.

'Stupid nosy prick,' Hermione thought to herself, laughing a little oddly and shaking her head as she replied "Nothing, Nothing, just, ummmm . . ."

As Hermione tried to think up an answer to his question, Dean began to look at his friend of the last years. Not only was the usually very neat, very organized Hermione Granger looking extremely rumpled and flustered, but she also had this glazed look on her face as if she was thinking about something else.

"Hermione, are you . . . feeling alright?" he asked hesitantly, not knowing exactly what to expect from her.

"Fine! Definitely!" 'Stupid ass should just mind his own business' she thought, coming out of her stupor. "Just ummm . . . ."

And she was off again, trying to figure out some excuse, and someone a little sharper than Dean might have realized that she was the exact opposite of fine and that the situation obviously needed further examination, but Dean was a little too wrapped up in his own world at that moment.

"Good! Listen, I need some help on the Advanced Charms homework for the weekend. If you're not busy later today, would you help me out a little?

"Sure, sure, okay." Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay Dean?" she added as she walked away, back off into her own little world.

"Huh?" she said, staring intently into her plate, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked up, dazed, and shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" It could be called miraculous that Hermione had made it to the table that morning without walking into some plate of armor or blurting the statement that was turning round and round in her head to some poor first year (or worse, someone who would have known what she was talking about) But she had made it, physically in one piece if not mentally stable.

Ron peered at her, his hand reaching out to hand her an apple stopped mid air as he studied Hermione's features. She didn't even notice when he started crossing his eyes and flaring his nostrils, even though she was staring straight at him.

"Hermione," he said, a little loud, to catch her attention "Hermione!" She snapped back to reality and looked at him questioningly as he pursed his lips impatiently. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, annoyed that her mind was elsewhere.

"What? Oh, no," she said, feigning a smile that came out only as a twitch of her lips. "I'm fine, perfect!" she pushed non-existent hair behind her ears several times and looked back down into her plate.

Ron shook his head and looked at Harry for help. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, while Ginny smiled sympathetically. Her brother seemed determined to talk to this drone that was Hermione this morning  
  
"So, about last night . . ." he began, trying to catch her attention again.  
  
"What? Last night? No!!! No last night!! There was nothing, I swear!" Hermione panicked, jerking her arms and making frantic gestures in the air--in the process, knocking the apple that Ron had decided to keep out of his hands and straight on to Harry's plate.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Ginny (not to mention a good portion of the Gryffindor table) stared at her as she stared at the slight mess before her. Hermione blushed faintly and looked down at her lap.  
  
"Sorry Ron, I'm really jumpy this morning," she told him sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't ask why.  
  
He didn't, but rather shrugged and didn't say any more, giving up on the conversation he had been hoping to have with her as a lost cause.

As everyone went back to eating their breakfast, Harry turned to Ginny, hoping to break the awkward silence between the four of them.  
  
"Ginny, why don't you tell Hermione about what you heard this morning," he asked hopefully.  
  
"Oh right! There was this attack right outside of Hogsmeade last night after we all left," she began.  
  
"Yeah, some Mercabilitis git," interrupted Ron, retrieving his apple from Harry's plate and, wiping off all traces of gravy, biting into it.

"Mactabilimentis, Ron," corrected Ginny, who then continued. "The boy that it attacked is in the hospital right now, but no one's been able to make him talk. The mediwizards haven't yet figured out what is exactly wrong with him."  
  
Hermione's mind cleared. "So they don't know the symptoms yet?" she asked, inquisitively.  
  
"Nop, noffing," responded Ron as Ginny winced noticeably.  
  
"Ron, close your mouth when you eat," she said with a look of disgust, ignoring her brother's comment that sounded something like "a regular mother, bloody hell."  
  
Hermione, who wasn't one to disregard table manners usually, didn't even notice the exchange between Ron and Ginny. 'If this went on last night . . . .' her mind raced, jumping between flashes of the morning just hours before and through the plethora of information she had stored away from different books.  
  
"This. . . ummm . . . . Mactabilimentis," she began and Ginny nodded at the correct pronunciation, "why haven't I read anything about it?"  
  
Harry and Ron rolled their eyes like they did whenever Hermione mentioned books, but Ginny smiled excitedly.  
  
"That's the thing," she began, "it's only been talked about in myths before--none have ever been actually sighted."  
  
"So how are they sure that it is this. . . this monster?" Inquired Hermione, her eyebrows furrowed.  
  
"They found the corpse near the Shrieking Shack--it's really weird--they can't figure out why it died.  
  
Hermione sat back in her seat, staring ahead pensively and biting her lip.  
  
"You guys, I think that I'm going to go and do my weekend homework," she began slowly after a long pause. "You know, to get it over with."  
  
Ginny and Harry exchanged knowing glances and Ron looked quite disappointed.  
  
"But I thought that we could just talk and---"he started.  
  
"Later Ron," Hermione cut him off dismissively, still staring off into the distance. "I'll see you this afternoon, we can talk then," she finished, turning around and beginning to head towards the hallway.  
  
"Hermione, wait--about last night," Ron called after her. "You aren't still mad, are you?" He asked to her retreating figure.  
  
"No, no, not at all," she called back absentmindedly. Ron looked down at his lap and sighed.  
  
Harry smiled sympathetically at him.  
  
"She has no idea," Ginny murmured under her breath to her boyfriend who looked at her and smiled sadly.  
  
"Not a clue," he agreed, looking back at his best friend who was staring miserably at his half-eaten apple.  
  
As Hermione walked into the library, she immediately spotted Madame Pince in the reference corner. Quietly, she walked up to the old librarian and tapped her on her shoulder  
  
"Excuse me, Madame Pince?" she asked, her voice calm and even as not to startle the elderly woman.  
  
As if that ever works.  
  
Madame Pince whirled around, emitting a small gasp and clutching her hands over her heart.  
  
"Merlin, you scared me," she hissed and then looked very startled at the volume of her own voice. For a moment, Hermione thought that the librarian was going to reprimand herself. But instead, the Madame Pince just looked perturbed.  
  
"May I help you?" she asked irritably, shooting glances past Hermione's head at a group of very vocal second years.  
  
"Oh, umm, yes. I have a research project to do in Advanced History of Magic and I was looking for the books on mythology, in particular--"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," Madame Pince interrupted, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "Though you would think that Professor Binns would take care to tell me of this 'report.'" She waved her hand to a shelf of books.

"A young man has already come in looking for, I believe, the book you are looking for, so you might not find what you want--hey, you! Stop! Take those books out of there immediately!" And with that, she stormed away from Hermione towards a group of sheepish fifth years.

Hermione hurried over to the bookshelves, and, peering down the aisle labeled Mythology, she spotted a tall figure staring intently into a large book. It was darker in this part of the library as there were no windows nearby and the closest torch was several study tables and an information desk away. Her eyes slowly adjusting, she suddenly recognized the person now twenty feet away.  
  
"Shit!" she whispered and began to edge out of the aisle so as not to raise attention. But, unfortunately Madame Pince has placed a very large stack of books on the side of the row and Hermione, in her haste, backed straight into them.  
  
'Perhaps I should have taken a few of those ballet classes mum told me about,' she thought to herself as she clumsily tried to catch at least one of the ancient tomes as they fell with a clatter onto the marble floor.  
  
Hermione shrunk away from the mess as the noise became louder and Malfoy--who had indeed been the one standing in the aisle--looked up at her and, though he smirked momentarily, would not meet her eyes and did not comment on the situation.  
  
And perhaps, she should have expected this after what had happened that morning, but she was totally surprised and unbalanced by his actions instead--the old Malfoy would have poked endless fun at her for being so uncoordinated. He would have been rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically, by now.  
  
But this Malfoy just looked back down at the book he was holding momentarily, then closed it and placed it back on the shelf. Hermione's mind whirled. Logically, she knew that, after waking up in bed next to someone, your relationship changes.

Logically.

But somehow, her mind, usually so logical, would not let her think that anything had changed--the voice that had been singing reality to her all morning had been ignored, and, because of this, she, in the moment that he returned his gaze back to his book, realized all at once what had happened the night before.  
  
She staggered backwards a bit, catching herself before she ran into something else. The thoughts, suddenly clear and bright--and true--whirled in her head and she felt as though this new thing, this change, was uncalled for, unwanted. She wanted him to laugh at her; she wanted him to insult her-- to at least look at her. What moment had she missed? Between which two breaths that she took did something--did everything--change. What had caused it, this intolerable difference?  
  
He was walking past her now, and, suddenly, she saw the three faint scars that ran down his cheek--healed now, but just as disturbing as the cuts that she had looked at a few hours before. Hermione involuntarily held her breath as she stared at his face, as he swept by her, his hands rigid by his sides, his mouth a thin line. He didn't look at her.  
  
And then the moment passed as he passed. He was gone in an instant and she was left alone to stand near the mass of books, a few still sparking or squawking in protest to their recent unsettling.

A few had come to determine what had sparked the rise in volume in the area and, Hermione's cheeks turning a slight shade of red, she inched a little further away from the mess.  
  
"You!" she heard a voice shriek. "You did this!" Madame Pince rushed towards Hermione furiously, her rail thin body quaking with anger, her usually neat gray bun now coming untidily undone.  
  
Before she had the chance to grab Hermione by the arm and pull her quickly away from the shelves of potential other "victims", Hermione quickly stepped towards the shelf and studied the book in what she thought was the place that Malfoy had put the book he was reading away. And, in a quick glance, she saw exactly what she herself had been looking for: _Mythological Beasts and the Roots of their Tales_ by Delilah A. Sampson.  
  
And then, quite suddenly, it was Monday.

For Hermione, Saturday had been spent in the library, either trying to explain to Madame Pince that she had not actually meant to cause the avalanche of evidently very old and very rare books, or researching in _Mythological_ _Beasts_ about the Mactabilimentis. Sunday had been lost somewhere with several butterbeers and candy from Honeydukes. She had kept busy to keep her mind off other, unmentionable things.  
  
And, though the moment in the library was a revelation, Hermione was very much still in denial.  
  
So, still sleepy eyed and hardly out of its pajamas, Monday returned, carried by cold winds and ice storms.  
  
It was winter now. Snowfalls were no longer premature and temperatures were expected to drop from their already considerably low spot on the thermometer  
  
Outside, the only green that could be seen peeked out from beneath crystalline caps of white, the branches shuddering under the weight of the ice and snow.  
  
And of course, once every day there could be seen a glimpse of green on the Quidditch Field--the Slytherins were practicing more than ever before.

Yes, it was winter.

But Snape had yet to do anything about the lack of heat in his classroom.  
  
So it hardly surprised him or any of the students in his class when, during Advanced Potions, they heard the sound of a glass vial shattering. (You see, they were all wearing mittens and heavy overcoats, so the clumsiness of each and every student escalated.)  
  
And Ron had no reason to expect glares--every single person in the classroom, including Snape, knew that it would be the first of many.  
  
Still, he looked sheepishly around at the other students as he muttered the repairing spell under his breath.  
  
Hermione, watching him, rolled her eyes when, after his incantation, nothing happened. Burying her nose deeper into her deep red cloak and in the process hiding her smile, she picked up her wand and, quick a flick of her wrist, the vial was as good as new  
  
Ron, who had yet to memorize all of the repairing spells for Charms, muttered irritably under his breath, began to pour the powdered ash root and essence of yarmuckle milk into the newly whole vial. He had a lot to prove in this class--Ron hadn't gotten Outstanding on his Potions OWL, but he had worked hard enough in regular sixth year Potions that Snape had grudgingly--with the prodding of Dumbledore--let him join Harry and Hermione in the advanced class his seventh year.  
  
He looked worse for the wear though, and, since there was no Neville for Snape to prey on, Ron had become the "clumsy fool" of the class.  
  
Naturally, because it had happened many times before on other days, Hermione dismissed the next crash of a broken vial from the table beside her as another slip of Ron's gloved fingers.

Of course, that was until she heard his scream of protest and recognized a second, much louder crash as the sound of his chair flying backwards as he stood up.

"Malfoy, you prick!" he yelled across the room, oblivious to Snape and the rest of the class.

As if all controlled by a single string, they turned collectively to stare at the accuser, then the accused. But Malfoy just looked innocently surprised, He cocked his head questioningly, the picture of sweetness, an unreadable look on his "angelic" face.

"Are you talking to me, Weasley?" he asked, his voice dripping with false surprise and courtesy.

"You just shot my arm with some spell so I would drop the vial again!" Ron hissed, seething with anger.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy answered him almost unconcernedly, raising his eyebrows and inspecting his fingernails as if already bored with the conversation. Then his eyes slid sideways to meet Ron's. "Perhaps you were imagining things--it's not as if you've never dropped a vial before," he said, a hint of malice tainting his voice.

Ron's ears were now as red as Hermione's cloak.

"Did anyone see me even reach for my wand?" Malfoy inquired, looking around at the class.

Hermione watched as all of the students either reluctantly or confusedly shook their heads. Blaise Zabini and another Slytherin in the class hid smiles under their scarves as they watched the wave of negative answers.

Even Harry, who sat next to Ron and would have loved to get Malfoy into trouble didn't say a word--he hadn't seen anything either. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Malfoy and the other gleeful Slytherins.

"Everyone here knows that you hexed Ron," he accused, a dangerous tone in his voice. "I don't need proof."

Malfoy didn't turn his head but moved his eyes to rest on Harry. "Poor Potter," he said, his voice low and venomous, "follow so blindly, don't you--it's always perfectly black and white for you, isn't it Potter?"

They stared at each other, pure hatred visible in both their eyes, and everyone in the class was wondering which of the three boys--Harry, Ron, or Malfoy--would snap first and throw the first punch, when Snape, with a quick side step around his desk, walked quickly to the front of the classroom and stared at each of them (okay, just Harry and Ron) maliciously.

"That will be enough," he said, his voice low and forbidding. "Now, let me see, thirty points from Gryffindor for Mr. Weasley's outburst and ten more for Mr. Potter's little addition." It could be said that he almost looked gleeful and the Gryffindors in the class narrowed their eyes. He had "forgotten" to take any points away from Slytherin. Snape continued.

"Since there is no way that Mr. Weasley can prove that it was not just out of pure clumsiness that he dropped the vial, I would like to return to class."

He turned and began to stalk back to his desk. But Hermione couldn't watch this. She knew that it hadn't been Ron's fault—that Malfoy must have done something.

"Excuse me, Professor?" she asked his back.

Snape froze abruptly in front of his desk. "What Miss Granger," he asked impatiently, his voice sending a few students hiding further into their bundles of clothes.

But Hermione didn't flinch. She just turned her gaze upon Malfoy, who looked back at her, his gray eyes glinting with anger.

"There is a way to tell--" she began, keeping eye contact with Malfoy all the time, "--if Malfoy did do something to Ron, she kept going, her voice hardening rather than weakening as Malfoy's scowl deepened. "Priori Incantatem."

Snape, both impatient and bored with the immature argument presented in front of him, motioned for Malfoy's wand.

Draco, not breaking eye contact with Hermione but rather changing his features to become unreadable, handed Snape his wand.

"Priori Incantatem," the Potions Master snapped impatiently, raising his own wand above Draco's.

The class held their breath, almost every student expecting to see the shadow of a curse, each ready to agree with Ron and Harry. Only the two other Slytherins looked suspiciously bored as they watched, and as the rest of the class gasped, they didn't seem the least bit surprised when Malfoy's wand emitted a ghostly glow.

Snape raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Now," he began, his voice dripping with scorn, "unless Mr. Weasley was terrified into dropping the vial by Mr. Malfoy's last "Lumos" spell, I expect that you have wasted our time, Miss Granger."

Ron's ears, from which the color had started to recede, now again turned bright red, and Hermione looked up indignantly at Snape.

"But Professor--" she began.

"Ten points more from Gryffindor" Snape interrupted, a vein in his forehead starting to throb. "And I suggest, Miss Granger, that you will not interrupt our class again unless you would like detention," he hissed.

Hermione looked down and said nothing more. She, along with Harry, just stared furiously at Malfoy (who seemed very pleased with himself) for the rest of the class. Ron just focused on pouring the ingredients into the correct flask and not dropping anything. He seemed to be particularly interested in a knot in his desk every time anyone spoke to him, and his ears never wavered from a constant shade of tomato.

As the class ended and they exited the classroom, only Harry and Hermione watched as Malfoy furtively handed Blaise her wand and whispered something to her.

"That bastard!" whispered Harry to Hermione. "I knew that he had done something to Ron!"

Ron, who Hermione has seen heading sulkily toward the Gryffindor common room, would probably have launched himself at Malfoy if he had been there, and Hermione daydreamed wistfully, smiling at the thought of the stupid Slytherin bleeding once again.  
  
Now, the thoughts that had been plaguing her were overtaken by anger, and, instead of having to think about . . . well . . . you know . . . it was like it had been only the week before. She could, at that moment, freely hate Malfoy (and what an enjoyable feeling it was).  
  
But she could handle her feelings--it wasn't like she was going to running screaming at him. She was mature enough and she didn't need to have a confrontation with Malfoy over anything--she just thought that it wasn't worth it.  
  
The same couldn't be said for Harry. Hermione didn't even try to stop him as he walked towards Malfoy, and, instead of running for a professor (just yet) she followed at a close distance behind him.  
  
Harry stopped directly in front of Malfoy, his eyes slits, his black hair--that he had let grow partially out--framing his set jaw.  
  
"We need to finish this Malfoy," he spat, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls. Hermione rolled her eyes at the melodramatic statement and crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
Malfoy looked straight into Harry's eyes, hatred emanating off his rigid features with every controlled breath. He opened his mouth to answer, but instead spit in front of Harry's feet.  
  
"You're not worth the shit that your friend lives in," he snarled, making an extremely rude gesture with his hand.  
  
Without hesitation, Harry swung his fist around to connect with Malfoy's face. The assaulted stumbled backwards at the force of the blow. His hands cupped around his nose--now bleeding--as he looked up from his crouched position close to the floor. He smiled dangerously, blood now dripping down his chin.  
  
"I guess this won't be a wizarding duel," he sneered, and with that, the two launched at each other  
  
Hermione watched, now regretting that she hadn't gone for an administrator. With a heavy sigh, she set her shoulders and, adopting her best "head girl" posture, she yelled "Stop!" at the two fighting boys.  
  
Neither complied.

_She knew better then to walk alone at night, but they had left earlier and she was in no mood to listen to Neville's ramblings about monkshood or harebane.  
  
The boy walking along the street just ahead of her dug his hands into his pockets and began whistling.  
  
Crickets chirped as the last bit of sunlight faded, the sky lit brightly by pinpricks and a glowing moon.  
  
Inwardly, she laughed at herself for the chills that had momentarily crept up her spine. There was no foreshadowing night breeze, and the stars lit her pathway. Nothing bad ever happened when there were crickets chirping.  
  
It was always silent in horror stories._

**Disclaimer:** Okay, I swear, they're not my characters or settings or anything!! I was holding them for a friend (okay, not at all since I only wish I knew JK). But then HE barges in and is like "you're the 'doctor'" and I told her that I was not. But then they found it all in the basement and they started hatching!!! Then there were explosives and her punching me and now I have a soul!!! God!!  
  
Oh wait, wrong obsession.

It all belongs to JK (and Joss Whedon in the actual disclaimer's case)


	6. Nil, Nada

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 6: Nil, Nada**

_"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hands too much,_

_Which mannerly devotion shows in this;_

_For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,_

_And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss"_

_W.S_

Hermione stared, surprised, at the two boys in front of her (though at this point it was more like one big blur of fists and shoes and girlish-squeaks). Neither had paid a moment's notice to her, the head girl!

Okay, so it wasn't like either of them had _ever_ really paid close attention to authority and rules. And so maybe both Malfoy and Harry had never _really_ taken her all that seriously (for completely different reasons, of course).

But still.

She was about to start yelling again when Christopher Hessian, a Ravenclaw seventh year and Head Boy, somehow stepped in between the two very angry enemies. Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to do, she mused. He evidently had never seen what these two could do to an individual's much needed body parts.

Nonetheless, he laughed uneasily as they stopped swiping at each other and stared down at him. Though Christopher was hardly short, it seemed as though both Harry and Malfoy towered over him, and, for a few of those eerily silent moments, the poor boy wished that he had spent more time toning his muscles on the Quidditch field rather than studying.

"Come on you guys," he addressed them, laughing a little uneasily as he looked around to see if any of the others around him had backed him up. No one stepped forward.

Christopher turned back around. "You guys don't want to get in trouble, do you?" he continued, almost cringing as he saw both Harry and Draco raise their eyebrows. "Not that I would say anything . . . ." trailing off and avoiding eye contact by taking in the situation further.

Blaise Zabini, Draco's cousin, was standing behind the Slytherin and was visibly smirking though her eyes were hidden under her almost black hair. Hermione Granger, who was Head Girl (but was also one of Harry's best friends) was standing behind Harry, exactly opposite Blaise and looked at first flustered and then nearly irritated. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

('Well,' she thought, 'if these three hormone-driven megalomaniacs—_sorry Harry_—were going to have a testosterone match, then she would certainly not interfere.' At least not yet.)

A crowd had formed around the five of them and was making sure to stay a safe distance away from the fight itself. It seemed that neither of the two girls (who truly were the only ones that had a chance to stop the brawl) was going to jump to his rescue.

Christopher sighed. Every single person in Snape's Advanced Potions class had seen this coming: the clash of the titans.

Raising his wand and shrugging at the two boys who looked at him menacingly as he did, he was about to signal the nearest teacher when he heard a shriek and saw a glint of brilliant red hair moving through the crowd.

"Hey! Get off my foot—_Ow!_ Okay, MOVE!" Ginny Weasely suddenly appeared in the center of the circle, people parting as quickly as they possibly could when they saw her coming. Her eyes glinted as she stared past Hermione and her red hair flew around her angry countenance as she stopped immediately in front of Harry and Draco.

"HARRY POTTER!!! _What-in-the-bloody-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing?_" she screeched, the words flowing out with so much rage that the whole crowd took a step back.

Harry turned from staring furiously at Malfoy and, hunching his shoulders, he looked up at his very angry girlfriend, paling visibly.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" he asked her incredulously, trying to hide his already swollen left eye with a bloody hand.

She took a few more steps forward until she was only inches away from him and stood there, tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her chest.

She said nothing, and the look on Harry's face went from one of surprise to fear.

"Ginny, it wasn't my fault, I swear—"

The sound of Ginny's hand slapping his cheek echoed off the stone walls.

"Ow!" he yelled angrily, his hand sliding from his eye to his cheek, the cold air of the dungeon corridor only adding to the pain.

"Go! Now!" Ginny yelled, and, eying her wearily, he retreated a few steps back. She huffed and furrowed her eyebrows. "You said that you wouldn't get into any more fights!" she continued plaintively, a tearful look now appearing in her eyes. "You promised!"

Any anger that had been left in Harry disappeared, and he took a step forward to hug her, about to mumble a thousand apologies, but she put out her hand.

"No." she said, the determination in her voice returning. "This is stopping now," she announced to everyone in a set _this-is-what-is-going-to-happen_ voice. "And **no** teacher will hear about this . . . umm . . . little discussion," she finished, eyeing Christopher meaningfully.

Then, grabbing Harry's hand, she led him forcefully away from the crowd and out of the already disintegrating circle. Hermione heard her mumble something to him about "_that stupid prick Malfoy_" and smiled. She had been afraid for Harry's life for a while there.

Draco sniggered as he watched the small girl lead Harry away.

"Well, it looks like we all know who wears the dick in that relationship," he sneered and a few of the Slytherin's in the crowd laughed sycophantically.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and turned to scowl at Draco. His nose was still bleeding and his lips were unnaturally swollen, but his usual arrogance and nasty tone of voice seemed intact. She walked quickly up to him as he looked around at the crowd that thought him so funny and slapped him, without warning, on the cheek.

"Bloody woman," he said wincing. "I should have expected that." The people that had turned to leave froze and gasped like the audience of a soap opera.

Hermione stared at him, and said, very simply, "Shut up Malfoy."

He looked down at her with what most called a disdainful look on his face.

"I don't take orders from mudbloods," he snarled.

She went to slap him again on the opposite cheek, but he, expecting this, caught her hand easily.

He leaned closer and, in a voice that only she could hear, he whispered "We've danced this little dance before, haven't we Granger?" he gripped down harder on her arm and sneered menacingly, his gray eyes so cold and shallow that she almost spit in his face.

Hermione recoiled from him and he let her pull her arm from his grasp. "You will not touch me again," she stated as if it was a command. He looked at him haughtily, her nose turned up, waiting for him to respond.

But instead of saying anything, he only smirked and bowed mockingly as she rolled her eyes and stormed past him. She looked down as she walked past at his face and, though his hair had fallen into his eyes, she thought she saw something there—more than anger or insult. But she wasn't going to stare at Malfoy, and, with a huff, she stomped out of the hall.

If anyone in the crowd had noticed any parallels between Ginny and Harry's confrontation and the one that they had just witnessed between Draco and Hermione, none of them discussed it—at least not with the parties in question.

Malfoy stood up straight from his bowed position and looked up at the people that were still watching him—most of them quickly went on their way. After taking out his wand and performing a cleaning spell to take care of the droplets of blood that would certainly stain the dungeon floor, he began to walk back to the Slytherin dormitories.

_"Fuck Herbology,"_ he thought, his nose was still bleeding.

The few remaining in the hallway trickled out—everyone except for Christopher Hessian, who stood, stock still, in the middle of the hall, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Hermione, who had opted out of her Herbology class by taking the yearly exam in advance and used her free period for her Head Girl responsibilities, decided that it would be in _everyone's_ best interest if she visited the Gryffindor common room.

She wasn't surprised when she found Ginny, Ron, and Harry shouting at the top of their lungs at each other as she stepped through the portrait hole.

It was actually quite amusing to watch. Ginny and Ron, both bright red and panting between screams, were standing on armchairs with their wands pointed at each other, each trying to get their own point across.

_"And,"_ she thought, _"Probably neither can hear a word that the other is saying."_

At intervals, both would simultaneously (as if practiced) turn and face Harry, who was cowering near the fireplace, and shout at him.

He, of course, looked terrified.

Hermione almost grinned as she saw that there was no one else to witness the spectacle—Ginny's shrieks emptied a room instantly, she had noticed.

The red-haired girl was the first to notice her, and stopped shouting, ending the cacophony. Hermione caught a bit of Ron's rant before he stopped.

" . . . . MY fault that YOUR stupid boyfriend decided to . . . " he stopped when he noticed that he could actually be heard and, looking up to see Hermione, he grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, err, sorry Hermione, I didn't see you there."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the three of them. "Aren't you all supposed to be in class?" she asked

Ron looked down at the floor and mumbled something about "_always with the education_," and Harry looked apologetic, but Ginny just shrugged.

"Harry's hurt and I needed to talk to him—Ron was here already," she explained. Ginny had been planning on becoming a mediwitch since the end of her fourth year (after she had snuck a few of the career brochures from Ron) and the skills that she had acquired since than had become helpful when Ron and Harry (and sometimes even Hermione) had returned from their adventures injured. Explaining to Ginny why there was a doxy attached to Ron's left eyebrow was much easier than explaining to Madame Pomfrey. Well, not _that_ much easier, but still.

Of course, Hermione noticed that Harry had not yet been tended to. His eye was still swollen and his fist, still covered in Malfoy's blood, had obviously not been washed off yet.

Harry saw her looking at his injuries and smiled wryly.

"The discussion took precedence over the healing," he joked and Ginny flashed him a look.

_You_ got yourself into this and _you_ are just going to have to wait a few minutes to be healed," she snapped.

Ron shot a look at her. "So you admit that it was _his_ fault and not mine!"

Ginny, who had gotten down from the chair, scowled up at her brother as he waved his wand to punctuate his point.

"If _you_ had not have started anything in the first place with Malfoy, then Harry would have had a reason to get hurt!" she hissed.

Ron mumbled something about sisters and friends and the not-mixing of the two and kicked the last cushion that had survived the battle off the chair.

As she seemed to be finally done with her rant, Ginny suddenly turned into her other personality—cuddly and loving—and walked over to Harry and hugged him.

"I just worry that you'll get really hurt," she said.

Harry was as surprised as Hermione. It would take a few more years before they could get used to Ginny's mood swings.

"Just like her mother," he mouthed over his girlfriend's shoulder to Hermione.

She nodded and laughed silently.

Harry looked down at his sweet-as-honey (for the moment) girlfriend and smiled winningly at her when she looked up at him.

"Oh Merlin, I think I'm going to hurl!" started Ron. "My little sister and my best friend?" He melodramatically placed his hand on his forehead and stepped down from his perch on the chair. "Could nature be _so_ cruel?" He pretended to heave into a pillow.

"Oh shut up Ron," snapped Ginny as she nestled against Harry's chest (amid Ron's shouts of "My eyes! My eyes!")

"Um, you guys----class?" Hermione asked, already knowing that it was a lost cause.

"I don't think I can stand Binns right now" Ginny stated as she yawned. "Besides, Harry and Ron need their sleep if we're going to win the Quidditch game tomorrow night. I suggest a good nap."

The Quidditch game had been postponed after what Dumbledore called heavy snowfall (and what everyone else called a blizzard) and was scheduled to take place in the early evening on Tuesday.

"I agree with Ginny," chorused Harry and Ron nodded (slightly happier as Ginny and Harry separated)

All three headed up to their respective rooms, but not before Harry followed (or tried to follow) Ginny up to her dorm. The stairwell kept flattening out, and he came sliding down the stairs to land back in the commons.

"If only . . ." he said wistfully, staring up the stairwell that led to his girlfriend, which earned him and indignant yowl and a punch from Ron. Fingering his now very sore cheek, he suddenly looked up.

"Hey, she never healed me!" he said, frowning and again trying to rush up the stairs to the girl's dorms. "Ginny! _Ginny_!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh as he tried over and over again to get up the stairs, injuring himself further in the process. As she turned from the extremely comical scene, she heard Ron call her name and looked to see him turn to address her.

"Ummm, Hermione?" he said, crossing his arms and worrying the carpet with the toe of his shoe.

"Yes Ron?" she asked, a little preoccupied as she tried to remember where she had left the book she was researching in.

"I, uhh, I just wanted to thank you for standing up for me in Potions today."

Hermione looked up at him and flashed a smile. "It was no big deal. Everyone knew that you were right, and I didn't want to see Malfoy win like that."

For some reason, Ron looked down and his ears tinged slightly red. "Well, I'll see you later then," he muttered and turned quickly, heading up the stairs to his room.

Hermione cocked her head, a little perplexed, and turned to leave the common room and begin her duties. She didn't see Harry, who had momentarily stopped yelling for his girlfriend, watch Ron and her conversation and shake his head incredulously.

_It was beyond darkness, something indescribably close to death, and she felt the chaos, the endless silence, pull on her, pull her further in._

_The last ounce of life within her looked, tried to find in itself the will to scream, to kick, to fight, to look once more for something. For anything. _

_But she could only find darkness—she felt herself become a shell, a nothing surrounded by nothingness. _

_And she couldn't even scream._

**Author's Note:** I know, maybe a bit too much Ron/Hermione interaction, but how could a semi-realistic story (about Hermione and Draco falling in love—ha!) happen where the two best friends don't interact?

Anyway, I hoped you liked it—another chapter soon, I promise. (**Please Review**—as I am sick and not really able to hold down real food, I'm living off all of your words right now. They're very good actually. Kind of salty. Hee hee) Hugs and Kisses (the candy, you sillies) to all of my wonderful reviewers! PS—I just figured out how to use italics and bold and underline and keep it! Wow I'm dense. So I apologize for the overuse of all **_three. _**


	7. Head Girl

**Important**: There is going to be a flashback to "_the night before"_ at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

****

**The Phoenix and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 7: Head Girl******

_Es verdad que las esperanzas_

_Deben regarse con rocío?_

_Pablo Neruda_

_Hermione stared at the line. _

_It was nothing more than that. Two points connected, she remembered her Mathematics teacher explaining. Nothing more than a tiny blue line. _

_So how could such an infinitesimal, insignificant line so suddenly change her life? She reached down to feel her stomach, already showing the signs of . . .what?_

_Her wand fell to the floor as she sank to her knees. Her palms slick and glistening with sweat, she pushed her hair back from her eyes. Could she really be . . . _

'Pregnant.'

The word resounded in her head as she sat straight up in bed with a gasp.

Not only had her dream become more real than ever, but she had never before actually found out the results of the pregnancy test in them. Until now. And it quite suddenly turned into a nightmare.

Shuddering, she kicked back the comforter as the room surrounding her came jarringly into perspective. 'The same room where only a few mornings ago my life ended,' she thought, scolding herself afterwards for being so melodramatic.

But the feelings of dread wouldn't go away. If she and Malfoy had . . .

Then she could very possibly be carrying a half-Satan child within her.

Of course, she convinced herself, there was no way that she would ever . . .

Especially with . . . .

The nausea that rolled up through her stomach could have been caused as much by her thoughts of Malfoy as by morning sickness, and she dutifully persuaded herself that it was the former.

But instead of lying back down and going to sleep or perhaps even getting up to make early rounds of the hallways, she sat in her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head tucked into the small hole between them. Her lovely world of pillows and feathers and crimson sheets could not be invaded by anything but the nursery rhymes that her mother had once sung to her and a few glimpses of white-blond hair that she hurriedly pushed away: they were not to be allowed there, in her little bubble. Not at least until sunrise.

"Perhaps you shouldn't eat so quickly Ron?"

The words were hardly heard over the din in the Great Hall that morning.

Ron looked up, his mouth nearly overflowing with food—miraculously, he had heard Hermione's comment, and he was about to speak when, catching a sharp glimpse from his sister, he sat back and chewed, swallowed, until Ginny thought he was fit to speak.

"It's game day, Hermione, need enough energy to safe keep those posts from the Slytherins, don't I?" he asked, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Ron had long gotten over his nausea and queasiness before games and had become one of the many who played Quidditch who thought it necessary to fill up on food to the point of overflowing. Harry, who was now being watched by scouts from several professional teams, had taken to making shapes with his meals rather than eating them.

Ginny just rolled her eyes. She had never needed to starve herself or do the opposite: her skills as a Chaser had been discovered after Harry had returned to the team as its Seeker, and Ginny had never felt the need to perform any rituals before games.

She obviously didn't need to: Ginny was quite an amazing Quidditch player.

Ron suddenly snorted and Hermione looked up to see why. He was gazing over at the Slytherin table, where quite a few of the students who usually sat there were missing.

"They're probably getting in a little more practice time before the game," she told him, adding quickly as his face fell "Because they know that they could never beat Gryffindor."

"They're all pricks, I say" said Ginny, hoping to cheer up her brother.

"Bloody right they are," he mumbled at his eggs. They didn't answer him back and he sighed dejectedly, looking over at Harry who seemed to have turned a little paler than he had been only moments ago.

"I still don't understand why you two are so anxious about this game. It's only Slytherin" she said, peeling a banana.

"One of the chasers just got the Nimbus 3000, which is an excellent broom and . . . . " Harry trailed off, watching his girlfriend as if entranced.

Ginny didn't even have time to blush before Ron snatched the banana out of her mouth.

"No. This is not . . ." he stuttered, waving the banana at her, " . . . not for you." He handed her his grapefruit.

"Merlin, Ron, have a sense of humour," she said as she rolled her eyes, but she took the grapefruit anyway as Ron turned to stare menacingly at Harry.

"Umm, did you know that I found the beast that you were talking about a few mornings ago in that book I was reading?" Hermione said, trying for a change in topic as she didn't like the way Ron was turning red around the neck and Harry was at the point of whiteness he had become so pale.

Ginny, catching on quickly, turned to question her.

"What did it say that the monster did?" she asked, still eying the two boys sitting across from her.

"Just because she's your bird doesn't mean that she isn't my--" Ron began angrily, not catching the immediate change on Ginny's face at his words.

"I am nobody's bird," she snapped, "Now listen to Hermione or we will be a few people short of a Quidditch team come this afternoon."

Not exactly knowing what exactly Ginny's threat entailed and obviously already over whatever was wrong between them, Harry and Ron turned their eyes to Hermione.

"JR Sturzenbeurg wrote that this creature was always accepted as a fairy tale if only because no real evidence had ever been found of its existence. Of course, in 1745 there was---"

Before Hermione could go any further, all four suddenly realized that the Hall had become very suddenly quiet, and that Professor McGonagall had very suddenly stood up.

"It has been brought to my attention that I need to speak with several students immediately. Could Mr and Miss Weasely, Miss Granger, Mr Potter and Miss Zabini please accompany me to my office." she stated curtly, no hint of a question in her tone.

Ginny, Harry and Hermione exchanged looks, and Ron looked up, puzzled.

"Wha mph?" he asked, pumpkin juice nearly spilling out of his mouth as Hermione winced.

With a flip of her hair, Blaise got up from her table and walked gracefully to the doors, where she stood, staring malevolently over at a bright red Christopher Hessian. Hermione suddenly had no question in her mind as to how the head of Gryffindor had learned of the goings on the dungeon, and, with one quick glance at her livid face, she knew that Ginny also understood exactly why they were parading through the Great Hall to "speak" to McGonagall.

As the four Gryffindors hurried over to the door, Blaise turned around to confront Ginny .

"If I'm in trouble for what you've done," she said, her voice a deadly whisper, "then you'll pay."

"I'm shaking in my robes" the red-haired witch snapped, a disdainful smirk on her face.

Before Blaise could say anything more, Professor McGonagall joined them and started walking quickly to her office.

It was in one of her red, high backed chairs that they found Malfoy, still bundled in his cloak and scarf, his eyelashes dripping from the remnants of snowflakes.

Ron smirked as he saw that Malfoy was still holding his broomstick and shivering. He immediately stopped when he saw Snape standing in the corner, his usual grimace deepened.

The Transfigurations professor sat down, a weary look in her eyes as she clasped her hands and looked at each one of them individually before beginning.

"It has come to my attention that there was an argument between the six of you," she began tersely. "Would one of you care to explain?"

Draco started and Harry sighed, ready for the ferret to plead innocence. Instead, he pleaded on the behalf of someone else.

"Blaise didn't do anything," he began, "she was just standing by."

Professor McGonagall studied him for a moment then turned towards the others.

"Is this true?" She asked.

They shrugged and all nodded their heads—except for Ginny who crossed her arms and refused to answer.

The professor looked at Blaise.

"I hope that next time you will alert an administrator instead of just watching," she stated. "You may go."

Blaise smiled at Draco before getting up from her chair and slipping through the doors out of the office.

Then Hermione spoke.

"Ron wasn't even near the fight—he had nothing to do with it, professor," she began and Ron looked over at her and smiled.

"I thought that Mr Weasley would somehow know of the cause of this . . . argument." It was Snape that had suddenly addressed this to McGonagall.

Harry looked up at him venomously. "Ron had nothing to do with it," he almost hissed.

Snape looked down at Harry, his cool features now twisted into a sneer, but McGonagall, instead of addressing either of them, looked at Malfoy questioningly.

"It's true," he conceded. There were too many witnesses that would say otherwise, and he was already in enough trouble as it was.

"Mr Weasley, you may go then," she said, dismissing him.

With one thankful look back at Hermione and Harry, Ron nearly dashed out of the door.

Then the professor turned to face the four remaining students, and they gulped collectively.

"I have been informed that physical blows were traded between the four of you and I am extremely disappointed," she began.

Harry looked quizzically over at Ginny and Hermione and quickly interrupted his professor.

"But what did Ginny and Hermione do?" he asked.

"Miss Granger, as I was told, hit Mr Malfoy, and Miss Weasley slapped you, Mr Potter," she snapped impatiently.

"But I'm not pressing charges," Harry said quickly. "That is, I mean---"

"I understand what you mean, but that makes no difference," she answered him, a glint of humour momentarily sparking in her eye.

Ginny looked down at her hands folded in her lap, tingeing red like her brother did.

"I do, however," the professor continued, "commend her for stopping the all out brawl that you two boys had been in," she conceded, flashing a quick glance at the red-head, who looked up hopefully. "You all will, however, still be punished," she finished and Ginny slumped back into her chair.

"Since none of you seem to have any signs of the fight visible and only one person has come forward," she looked at them sternly, "and each of you were quite cooperative, I will deduct 15 points each from your houses and all four of you will have to spend tomorrow afternoon in detention. Miss Granger and Miss Weasley will be with me, and Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy will be helping Professor Snape."

Hermione looked up to see Harry stare vindictively at the Potions professor, whose sneer seemed to taunt the student that he was now in control of for an afternoon.

"You will report during lunch and after your last classes of the day, no exceptions," McGonagall continued. "You may go to whatever your class is now, but I would like an extra word with Miss Granger before she leaves."

Hermione shuddered. She had been expecting this. Her badge would be taken away, she would be expelled, her wand broken---her mind raced as she watched as Malfoy swept out of the room and Ginny and Harry looked back at her, giving her encouraging smiles. She couldn't bring herself to smile back.

As the door closed behind Snape, who had also left, Hermione turned around to face her professor, deathly pale. Her heart was suddenly racing and she felt quite light-headed, realizing that she had been taking quite deep breaths to steady herself.

"Calm down, girl" McGonagall scolded her. "I'm not going to take your badge away from you."

Hermione sighed and relaxed a little further back into her chair.

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly, "I understand that I shouldn't have--"

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall interrupted, "as disappointed as I am in you actions, I must inform you that it is not what you did but what you didn't do that raises alarm."

"Oh," Hermione said, understanding now.

"I am speaking to you to remind you of your duties as Head Girl, this including serving as keeper of the peace."

Hermione looked down, her cheeks burning, her eyes beginning to tear.

"I know that you are attached to your friends, but if you cannot perform you duties . . " she trailed off and peered at the young girl in front of her. "This is a warning Miss Granger. I am sure that we will have no further problems."

"I really am sorry," Hermione whispered, trying to speak past the ball of emotions that seemed to have built up in her throat.

"I am finished, Miss Granger, you may go."

Holding back her tears and not daring to meet the eyes of the Head of her house and the professor that she looked up to the most, Hermione summoned enough strength to get up out of the chair and walk to the door.

Ginny was waiting outside. She gave Hermione a sympathetic look and linked arms with her as they walked through the hall together.

"It was Christopher, that bastard," Ginny began venomously. "Harry and I already were thinking of hexing his socks to turn into snakes.

Hermione laughed through the tears running down her cheeks and looked up at the comforting face of her friend.

"I was thinking more along the lines of tarantulas."

_She looked up at him, into his eyes and she saw that there was something more to them. The shallow grey that she had always known was gone--she saw past it. She saw everything she had ever known--she saw the world spinning slowly in his eyes.  
  
"I . . . . I . . ." but her mouth suddenly wouldn't let her speak, she felt her stomach twist into a knot and suddenly it was much harder to breath. 'So this is what it feels like,' some corner of her brain that had not yet drowned in his eyes thought.  
  
There was no tension, no childish reticence or hesitancy in their movements. It was as if they each knew the other's thoughts, movements. Hermione closed her eyes and stopped breathing for a moment when she felt his hand on her chin, felt him tilt her face ever so slightly upward. Her intake of breath was short, almost desperate and the only inkling of her conscious self left wondered how a moment could last so long, how the wind could blow so softly along the back of her neck, how still existence could seem as you waited . .   
  
And suddenly, his lips touched hers and she would have smiled at the perfection of it all if she had still had control over her body. For though it was her arms that suddenly found themselves wrapped around him--fumbling into the folds of his cloak to get closer to him--and it was her hands that finally clasped his neck, curled fingers playing with the surprisingly soft hair there, she didn't remember asking them there.  
  
Hermione Granger stood in the middle of the hall, not knowing of anything but his lips, his tongue, his mouth--him. She had never felt--never known . . . .  
  
And she suddenly knew something, something perhaps that her deadened mind should have never thought, never have whispered to her with an unexpected persistence.  
  
She stepped back, away. Her eyes flew open and she almost imperceptibly shook her head as she looked at him, finally seeing him.  
  
"Oh."_

__

__

**Author's Note: **First off, the quote at the beginning of the chapter is part of Pablo Neruda's _Book of Questions, _and a penny to anyone who can translate it. Also, I hope that all the changes in format are okay and sorry on the fact that the revisions, etc took so long. I hope you like it all so far (fingers, toes, and eyes are crossed) so review to tell me whether you do or not (or, as my mummy says, my eyes will get stuck this way and that's no good for any of us.) To anyone who's looking for a much better story to read, try Arbitrary's _Temporary Insanity _or Fluff's _The Bachelor, _which are both hilarious and amazing. I also like Miss Augurey's _Unexpected Side Effects of Floo Powder _even though it's just been started.

PS: I'm done with the pesky "important" note at the beginning of each chapter. If you don't understand it still, well, then maybe you shouldn't have gotten this far into the story.


	8. Miles To Go

**Disclaimer: **None of it's mine, except for a few cookie crumbs from yesterday's picnic and some remnants of plot.

**The ****Phoenix**** and Turtle**

**By Taelyn**

**Chapter: 8: Miles to Go**

_"Tis very strange Man should be so fond of being_

_thought__ wickeder than they are."_

_Daniel Defoe_

As Draco walked out of McGonagall's office, he hardly noticed as Blaise fell in step behind him. Soon, though, she stepped out ahead of him and began walking backwards so that he could see her face.

In an instant, she was suddenly much more mature, her hair deep brown, her complexion dark. Then, in another moment, her hair was flaming red and curly, her cheeks dimpled, her mouth petite.

But instead of eliciting the usual smile from Draco, she found herself staring at a man thinking of something other than her. Which, honestly, never really sat well with Blaise.

With a shake of her head, her hair was suddenly chestnut brown and frizzy, her eyes brown and her mouth pouty.

Draco suddenly came into focus as he watched his cousin—an metamorphagus—transform into the closest thing she could to resemble Granger. When she saw that wouldn't laugh or even smile, she shook her had and grinned.

"So nothing will cheer you up today, dear cousin?" she asked, transforming to closely resemble Draco—her hair fine and blond, her chin pointed. As he set his jaw grimly, she noticed the faint, fading scars on his cheek.

"Now where did we get those, I wonder," she questioned him, ready for an answer. When none was given, Blaise frowned.

"Draco, are those from the fight?" she asked, suddenly disturbed that her longtime confidant had suddenly turned stoic. When he didn't answer again, she turned her back from him and began walking forward.

"I act like a circus animal just to make you smile and you won't even tell me where you got a few scars?" she asked huffily and Draco softened as he watched her hair recede to black.

"Blaise, don't be such a cow," he joked, half smiling. But when she turned around, he noticed something in her eyes.

"You used to tell me everything," she began, stopping in the hallway and looking at the stone floor. "I knew every secret, every nook and cranny of your brain." Blaise looked up at him.

"But now . . . I walk into your room a few days ago and I see tearstains on your face. I see scars than no boy has the fingernails to inflict." Draco gulped as he watched his cousin become close to tears and tried to smile.

"That Potter is quite effeminate, though," he said, hoping to cheer her up and she smiled a little, choking out a half-laugh.

Draco suddenly felt . . . wrong. For forgetting who he really was for the past couple of days. He had concentrated so hard on not thinking about Hermione that he had forgotten to owl his mother, nearly crashed into one of the goalposts at practice, and now reduced his best friend to tears.

"Blaise, the scar is nothing. It means nothing," he said, his voice determined to be strong, to keep from wavering.

The girl in front of him sniffled, and then looked up, smiling.

"Good," she said, trying to blink away any remnants of tears. "Because I'm trying to convince a couple more first years of the ambiguity of my gender and what is an metamorphagus without a certain amount of inspiration?" she asked and Draco laughed as they began walking down the halls towards their next class again.

That afternoon, another blizzard hit, and the Quidditch game was again postponed. Hermione suddenly found herself surrounded by students with an excess of pent up adrenaline that could not be let out that evening and spent most of the day patrolling. The next day came quicker than anyone would have liked as breakfast turned into morning classes, and then into the period that should have been lunch.

But for Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Draco, it was a period of particularly grueling detention.

McGonagall had sent the two girls immediately out into the snow banks to gather the Winter Sittlecote—a plant that only bloomed after at least two consecutive snowfalls. Snape had quarantined Harry in the potions classroom, scouring cauldrons, and only after Harry threatened to turn him into Dumbledore did Draco deign to do any work at all.

By afternoon classes, the four of them were either frostbitten or raw from scouring and, for Hermione, Defense against the Dark Arts seemed a nice break from the manual labor.

Until she walked into the classroom and noticed the odor.

Professor Trimble, who most of the Seventh Years said rather resembled a bowl of pudding, had been the only teacher for a decade to teach DADA for two consecutive years. Of course, by the look of his half-torn off mustache and constantly bleeding or cursed appendages, everyone wondered if he would make the year.

And today's class seemed to give him no break.

Above the clatter of desks and chairs being thrown across the room and what sounded like a crash of something very breakable, Hermione was able to make out to day's lesson plan.

"—going to—ape-faced murples—Snape thought—only cure—too many bananas—" gave her to very true guess that they would be spending the next hour cleaning up after the monkey-like rodents that had a fondness for levitation.

When the afternoon classes were finally over, Hermione trudged heavily back into the Transfiguration classroom. She found there, an equally exhausted Ginny.

"Hagrid decided to give us a pop quiz on Tebos today," she said, leaning on one of the desks and holding her side.

Hermione frowned. "I don't remember Hagrid every giving written tests," she said.

Ginny looked up, slightly bemused.

"Pop quiz as in us trying to find a way to lure the buggery beast back into its cage before it gouged out Creevey's eye," she said, wincing as she stood up straight.

"You should see Madame Pomfrey about that, Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she entered the classroom, nodding to Hermione who looked down at the floor. She had yet to recover from the embarrassment of the day before.

"That's okay Professor," Ginny said, resisting the urge to cry slightly as she took a step forward. "It's only a slight bruise."

The Transfigurations professor eyed the girl for a moment, and then nodded quickly.

"I won't push you to, Miss Weasley, but only because you will be working inside for a good part of the rest of the afternoon."

"Thank Merlin," Ginny muttered under her breath as McGonagall explained exactly how they were supposed to rearrange the Charms room for the next days lesson.

As Hermione and Ginny worked to move the desks quickly around the classroom, Hermione couldn't help but notice that her good friend kept eyeing her.

"What is it then?" she finally asked exasperatedly and Ginny grinned mischievously.

"So, how are you and my brother," she asked, adding just the amount of cheek needed to make Hermione blush slightly.

"Fine," she said curtly and then, when she saw the look on Ginny's, she added "just fine. That's all."

"Are you sure?" needled Ginny, not paying any attention to where she was pointing her wand and nearly sending one of the desks flying out of the window.

Hermione huffed and the desk she was moving banged into place a little harder than she meant it to.

"What do you mean to insinuate, Ginny?" she asked, her face very hot.

Ginny tried to swing her legs nonchalantly, but groaned as pain shot up her stomach again. "Nothing," she said, momentarily doubled over and breathing shallowly. "Just that there might be, you know, sparks."

Hermione crossed her arms, sending one of the desks spinning across the room.

"Ron would never think of me as someone who would induce sparkage," she said and Ginny looked up at her.

"I would laugh," she said, "but my side hurts enough already."

Hermione just stared out the window.

"No boy in his right mind would ever think of me as anything but a friend," she said matter-of-factly and Ginny snorted loudly.

"I'm not even going to respond to that," she said, focusing again on the task at hand. "Now stop feeling so sorry for yourself and help me," she finished.

Hermione flipped her hair indignantly but raised her wand again, and, soon enough, the girls were giggling hysterically over the stories of afternoon classes.

"—and Braddock couldn't even get down from the tree," Ginny gasped out, amid Hermione's shrieks of laughter and her own giggles. Suddenly though, she sank to her knees and Hermione stopped laughing.

"Oh, oh, ow," she said, holding her side again as she fought back sudden tears.

Hermione reached down to help her friend up, wondering whether she should call a Professor, but her thoughts were interrupted by Professor McGonagall for the second time that day.

"Miss Weasley, you will report immediately to the infirmary," she said, watching as the slight witch rose to her feet. "And no more of this 'stiff upper lip' nonsense," she finished as Ginny began to protest.

Hermione watched as the professor grabbed hold of one of Ginny's arms and turned back to look at her.

"It seems that Mr Potter and Professor Snape have had a bit of an . . . errrr . . . confrontation," she said carefully as Hermione smiled inwardly at the thought of the two enemies screaming at each other in the dungeon classroom.

"Since there are only two of you left," McGonagall continued, "you will report to the Potion's classroom and help Mr Malfoy scour cauldrons.

Ginny looked back apologetically as she limped painfully off with the aid of the professor, but Hermione's legs didn't seem to want to move after them and out of the classroom.

Three more hours of detention. Spent with Draco Malfoy.

Suddenly the meaning of punishment became very, very clear.

Within the next half-hour, the meaning of painful silence would also suddenly become very vivid for Hermione. As well as looks-that-would-kill and that stupid saying about the pot calling the kettle black (as it didn't really matter since cauldrons were, by rule, much more so).

And as hard as she tried to totally ignore Draco Malfoy altogether, she couldn't help but notice each time his hand accidentally brushed against hers as they both went for a certain tool, or the several moments in which they had accidentally locked eyes.

And that one time, when she had mistaken his robes for a rag and used it to polish the soot off her current work.

It really had been a mistake. No, really.

Nonetheless, the static in the air between them wouldn't fade, and Hermione could only attribute it to the growing animosity. But two hours into the work, they had managed to avoid any conflicts.

Until his foot seemed to find its way into the path where she was walking.

And Hermione ended up, face down on the cold floor as Draco shook with amusement next to her.

"Oh go ahead, laugh all you want," she said snottily, picking herself up off the ground.

"Fine, I will," Draco choked out before nearly falling to the ground himself with laughter.

"Stupid prick," she said haughtily, wiping off her palms and turning up her nose.

"Oh come on—down on the floor, with the dirt and grime—that certainly must be the place you're most comfortable, Granger," he said, finally recovering from his laughing fit.

"At least I don't belong a little further below the surface, Malfoy," Hermione spat, for some reason stung by barbs that had gotten old years ago.

Draco smirked. "Come on Granger, is that the best you can do? For someone thought to be so intelligent, I find you quite lacking," he said, his glinting.

Hermione smiled. "Then why can't a pureblood like you seem to beat me and make your father proud?" she asked as she moved past him.

Draco shut his mouth quickly as she glided around to face him.

"Your father must not be too happy about that, right Malfoy?" she asked, testing him to see how far she could go. "Hermione Granger, mudblood, besting the Malfoys, and you: disgracing the family name with every single test score that's returned to you."

"You can't deign to think that you know anything about my family," Draco ground out through clenched teeth.

"What," Hermione mocked, moving closer towards him, "is there something there that poor Draco doesn't want to talk about?" She watched as he clenched his fists, no longer caring how angry he became.

"Do you have long lost brother? Is your father never home? Does your mother—"

Thirty minutes later, the two of them were sitting in Dumbledore's office, staring at a very solemn headmaster in front of them.

"You both know that I do not tolerate fighting in my school," he began, looking from Hermione to Draco as they both stared back at him.

"We fell," Hermione said defiantly, rubbing the bruise on her thigh as she held an ice charm to her already purpled eye.

Albus Dumbledore had seen much worse over the years. Much worse. But to watch two of the most promising pupils in his school squabble like housecats was particularly troubling. He stared down his nose at the Head Girl, her robes torn and ripped and her lip puffy and cracked.

"You fell," he repeated simply.

"Yes, headmaster," said Draco, looking sharply up into the clear eyes of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore surveyed the boy in front of him. His nose was bloody for the second time in two days, his robes had been left in the potions classroom along with a shoe, and a very large bump was beginning to rise on his forehead.

"Well, that simply explains all of this," Dumbledore concluded, looking at the two battered seventh years. "Of course, because of the injury you have done to the Potions room floor in your falls, each of you will, I'm told, be spending a week in detention."

The two groaned consecutively, Hermione resting her head in her hands and Draco massaging the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers.

"Together?" they asked simultaneously and sunk back further into the chairs as Dumbledore nodded, a slight smile on his face.

"It wasn't my fault!" exclaimed Hermione to a sympathetic Ginny as they both headed, healed, back towards the Gryffindor commons for a meeting with Harry and Ron. "It was completely—

"—her doing!" spat Malfoy as he walked with Crabbe and Goyle towards the Slytherin common room. "She just started taunting me and I couldn't help but—"

"—retaliate" continued Hermione, nearly walking into the portrait of the Fat Lady before Ginny had a chance to say the password. "He thinks he's—"

"—so smart," he said as Crabbe began moving other students out of Draco's path (he didn't seem to be paying attention). "She thinks she knows everything about me, she presumes that I'm nothing more than—"

"—some stupid cow," she said angrily to Ron who was only half listening as he tried to take out Harry's knight. "And it's certain things he's so—"

"—touchy about," he continued as Pansy began to edge away from him cautiously. "How am I supposed to know—or care—that what I say—"

"—actually means anything to him," Hermione said as she paced in front of the stone fireplace. "And the fact that he would—"

"—resort to violence over something like that just lowers my opinion of her so much more," Draco said as he walked back and forth between Crabbe and Goyle. "Not that I had that high an opinion—"

"—of him in the first place," said Hermione, as Neville began to back into a corner.

"He's just—"

"She's just—"

"—so—"

"—incredibly—"

"—infuriating!"

_And suddenly, she could hear the screams, the cries, the pain of every single being on this earth._

_Alone in everything but her mind, she suddenly felt the panic of a Moroccan salesman as he entered his burglarized house, the grief of a mother receiving a phone call from a hospital, the fear of a wife as her husband pulls out another bottle. _

_And, amid all of their screams, she couldn't find her own. Her identity, forgotten, she became the pain of millions, and she suddenly didn't care if this thing ripped her apart._

_She wanted death, she wanted it all to end. She wanted silence._

**Author's Note: **Okay, you definitely need to tell me if that end dialogue switching from Hermione to Draco was too complicated, because it very well might be (even though it was a blast to write). I am beyond sorry that I haven't really written in a very, very long time, but hey! That's real life for ya. Anyway, my sincerest apologies for everyone who has been waiting for this chapter: I really hope you like it. And please review, since I bet I'm going to lose a lot of my past reviews with the new formatting. I absolutely adore everyone who has read this, though, whether you've reviewed or not. Thanks!


	9. Winter Wonderland

The Phoenix and Turtle

Chapter Nine  
Winter Wonderland

__

"Gone away is the bluebird

Here to stay is the new bird

He sings a love song, as we go along

Walking in a Winter Wonderland"

Bing Crosby

As a little girl, Hermione had always shunned the sweat-covered socks, itchy grass and hide and go seek games of summer for a good book. The soft warm rains of spring never tempted her away from her bevy of novelettes and projects, and she had always preferred the feel of a pencil and the smell of a new rubber eraser to the colorful leaf piles that the other neighborhood children so loved to jump in.

But every year, her parents would buy her a set of mittens and matching hat--perhaps a scarf if she didn't want the money to buy a new paperback. Because each winter, Hermione would abandon the cushy red chair in the nook in her living room that she spent so much curled up in. She would don boots and a thick coat, make her mother promise to boil water for hot cocoa, and race out into the first snowfall of the year, and each after that.

To her, snow was fascinating. Mathematically logical, scientifically explainable, and yet--- holding a certain magical quality that she found undeniably mesmerizing. The seven year old Hermione would spend hours outside, her head tipped up, watching the graying sky turn darker and darker. She expected herself to always look forward to the icy kiss of Jack Frost and the welcome sight of a winter wonderland.

"Bloody buggering hell."

Draco looked up from the patch of Sittlecotes that he had been searching for blooms, a look of complete surprise on his face as he studied the girl cursing so fluently beside him.

"Tssk tssk Granger," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm sure that the ambiguously gay duo would be quite disappointed at your use of language."

Hermione scowled at him through several layers of clothing and threw the scarf around her face to shield her nose and mouth from the bitterly cold wind.

"Grr frmk yrmsulf," came the muffled reply as she reached down to pick two more of the delicate white flowers.

"What was that?"

Hermione looked up at the boy standing next to her, and the frown lines furrowed deeper into her forehead.

"I said, Malfoy, to go--"

But before she could finish, they both noticed a smiling Hagrid walking towards them across the snowy embankments, his huge feet sending swirls of snow into the air with every step.

"If I ever meet him in a dark alley, I swear to Merlin he will pay for this . . . this torture," Draco hissed under his breath, and Hermione snorted.

"Like you could ever make Hagrid pay for anything Malfoy, even in the darkest alley," she said softly, smirking slightly as he glared back at her.

"Now, aren't you glad I convinced McGonagall to let you serve yer detention outside in this lovely weather rather than with Flitwick?" Hagrid asked as he stopped in front of them, his cheeks rosy from the bitter weather.

Hermione suddenly found herself agreeing with Malfoy as they both surveyed the almost gleeful half-giant bouncing from foot to foot in front of them.

"Now, if you don't mind Hermione, I've got ter get back to my cabin. Fang can't stand the cold weather," Hagrid said, ignoring the harsh looks on the faces of the students before him. "Are you sure yer goin' ter be alright with--" he motioned to the blond Slytherin beside her "--that one?"

Draco scowled.

"You should be more worried about my life, Gamekeeper," he said, his voice harsh as his teeth chattered from the cold. "From the words coming so elegantly from her mouth a moment ago, I can only guess that, beneath all those layers of wool and cotton, there lies a very crude and very rough sailor rather than your Granger."

"You shut yer mouth Malfoy," Hagrid said, and Draco rolled his eyes. The large Care of Magical Creatures teacher looked back over at Hermione.

"Will you be okay?" he asked again.

Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to snap at him. She had put on so many layers of clothes that she looked and felt like an enormous puff ball, and yet it still seemed that her whole body was freezing and wet. She was about to be left alone in the middle of a blizzard with the most annoying boy alive, and all that her completely dazed and disoriented brain could think about was how warm his pink-tinged cheeks might feel if she rubbed her nose against them.

But instead of throwing a tantrum in the middle of the Hogwart's school grounds--which was awfully tempting--the Head Girl clenched her fists and nodded her head, tasting blood as she bit down even harder on her lip.

It was evidently enough for Hagrid. His smile that had slightly wavered as she contemplated yelling at him immediately returned at her acknowledgement.

"I'll come get yeh when yer detention's over," he said, his voice nearly disappearing in the wind as he hurried back towards his cabin.

Hermione and Draco returned to work, each relatively silent as they tried to beat back thoughts of the cold harsh winds that seemed to be coming from all sides. It was not until Hermione got close enough to Draco that she heard him muttering indistinctly to himself.

"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled and growing more amused by the minute as she watched the blond Slytherin beside her blush slightly.

"I wasn't doing anything," he muttered quickly, hastily turning his back and mentally cursing himself for doing something so stupid.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Malfoy, unless you want the whole school to know that you spend your detentions speaking to an imaginary friend, I suggest you explain to me exactly _what _it was I just heard."

For a few moments, Hermione thought he actually was going to ignore her until she heard him mumble slightly again under his breath.

"What?" she asked, half-forgetting the onslaught of snowflakes and unwrapping the scarf around her face so she could properly see him.

"I was singing," he snapped loudly as he turned around, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hermione choked back a laugh, her eyes nearly popping out as she stared at Draco. Fighting to keep the giggles at bay, she quickly put her gloved hand up to hide the smile growing on her face.

"Singing what exactly?" she asked, the muffled question just loud enough for him to hear.

And suddenly, without any warning, Hermione heard the slightly off-key, yet familiar, tune that she had not recognized as more than a murmur before.

"The weather outside is frightful--"

It was hardly louder than a whisper and Draco wouldn't look up from the ground as Hermione tried to stop herself from laughing.

"--and the fire is so delightful--"

It was unbelievable. The so-called Prince of Slytherin, heir to the Malfoy line and arch-enemy of her best friend was standing before her . . . singing.

"--but as long as you love me so--"

And not only that, he was singing . . .

"-let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

" . . . A muggle song" she said, her hand dropping from her mouth.

Draco, perhaps if only surprised that she wasn't yet in fits of giggles on the ground, looked up at Hermione.

"What did you say?" he asked, he voice soft as he tried to recover any sliver of pride left.

"You were singing--" Hermione began, her face a mask of surprise, "--a muggle song."

"Just because a stupid muggle sometimes stumbles upon something of the wizarding world and passes it off as his own doesn't mean it makes it any less good," Draco snapped harshly as he tried to regain some composure.

"You mean that song was written by a wizard?" she asked curiously, ignoring the fact that Draco looked ready to kill her for her discovery.

"Bloody right," he said. "My mother said that you can keep warm by singing," he continued. "Better than your people's way of rubbing two stupid sticks together."

"That's a horrible comparison," Hermione said immediately. "And I've never heard anyone say that singing can somehow keep you warm in cold weather."

"Well, that just shows you how many truly intelligent people you've actually met," Draco sniffed snottily and suddenly Hermione remembered who she was talking to.

"Perhaps a _good_ singing voice can keep a person warm . . ." she began, too tired to think of anything more scathing to say.

Draco scowled at her. "What do you mean by that?" he asked owlishly as he swiped a snowflake off of the tip of his nose.

"Just that, perhaps, you weren't doing the song justice," Hermione said airily as she looked down to haughtily study her nails--and then realized that she was still wearing gloves.

"I sing like an angel," Draco retorted, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he took a step closer to Hermione.

She snorted.

"There is nothing about you, Malfoy, that even remotely resembles anything angelic," she scoffed, but, at the moment she said it, she knew she was lying.

Whether Hermione wanted to admit it to herself or not, Draco Malfoy looked too much like an angel for her taste--especially with the wind dying down and the snow falling peacefully around his pale face.

"--ke you could do any better Granger."

A harsh voice jolted the girl back to reality, and she shook her head slightly--if only to keep the snow from collecting.

Malfoy was sneering at her, and she could only wonder how much more of his torture she could take.

"At least I don't go frolicking around snow banks, singing carols like a complete fairy," she said coolly, watching his eyes narrow at the insult.

"You know Granger," he began, and Hermione braced herself for another verbal battle. "You're really not worth it."

And before she could really even ascertain his movements, he had brushed past her to begin examining the patch of Sittlecotes again.

And Hermione's mind attributed the sudden, biting pain she felt to the cold wind that had come back again, blowing harder against both their faces than it ever had before.

After what seemed like hours of silence, Draco finally looked up from the plants in front of him, now void of all blooms. Sighing as he saw Hermione's face tighten as they momentarily met each other's eyes, he knew immediately that his own mouth had made his detention much harder.

Hearing a snort from Hermione as she turned away from him, Draco rolled his eyes and walked towards her.

"Come on Granger, stop being such a cow," he said, grabbing her elbow to spin her around.

She immediately jerked out of his grip as soon as she faced him, and Draco thought perhaps the false rumor he had spread a year before that she was half-werewolf might just be true: she seemed ready to rip his throat out.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, her cheeks red from the cold, and her eyes sparking with anger. Draco watched as a small snowflake fell softly to rest near her lips, and he felt the unwanted urge to reach out and brush it away, perhaps to even--

"Draco!" Hermione's shriek caused his eyes to jerk up from where they had rested on her lips, and back to the furious gaze that he guessed she saved for him alone.

"We wouldn't have to even talk so much if you would just give me that blasted map," he snarked as malevolently as he could.

Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"Hagrid trusted me with the map," she said superiorly, "and I've already let you look at it twice."

"Well I've forgotten where the last two patches were," Draco gritted out, "and I'm too turned around here anyway." He clenched his fists as he watched the girl in front of him sniff haughtily.

"Just because you have a bad sense of direction, Malfoy, doesn't mean that I have to humor you," she said, and Malfoy suddenly felt like grabbing her by her soft, warm brown hair and tugging hard until she gave him what he wanted.

"Granger, just give me the map," he said, realizing now that without it, the only way he could find the last two patches of Sittlecote--or the way back to the castle--was to follow the muggleborn around her like a dog. And Draco Malfoy was no dog.

Hermione sighed. "Fine" she said, reaching into the first of many cloaks that she was nestled within and pulling out a folded piece of parchment.

"Ah-ha!" Draco said quickly, trying to snatch the map away from her grasp the moment it came into view.

The same moment a very large gust of wind blew through across the field they were both standing in. The same moment Hermione's gloved hands accidentally let the parchment slip.

"Oh bugger," said Hermione, mentally berating herself for cursing so much. "Now look what you did Malfoy," she snapped as they watch the thin parchment fly up into the sky and out of their sight.

Draco felt all hope drain out of him as another gust of wind blew up snow, completely disguising where the map might have gone. He turned towards Hermione, terror written across the features of his face.

"We'll be lost out here forever," he began, spinning around wildly to spot a glimpse of the castle turrets. There was nothing but snow and wind and trees in view.

"No one will be able to find us, and without the map we won't be able to get back--"

"Malfoy . . ."

"And I'll have to find shelter from the cold with _her _of all people--"

"Malfoy."

"And we'll run out of food and begin the slow, painful process of freezing to death--"

"Draco Malfoy, will you shut up for just a moment!"

But he wasn't paying Hermione any attention.

"--And then we'll both starve, and, because of the primitive background you've come from, you'll try to eat me, and--"

" 'ermione? Malfoy? Yer detentions over, you ken come back ter the castle now," said a voice, and Draco whirled around quickly.

Hagrid had been standing behind him, and Draco saw, now that the wind had died down, the outline of the gamekeeper's cabin in the distance.

He looked over quickly to Hermione, who was trying her hardest not to laugh, but rather to look serious and angry. It wasn't working.

"Just because you have neither a sense of direction nor any logic in that tiny brain of yours doesn't mean that you're always right," she choked out between stifled laughs as she began walking past him to follow Hagrid back to Hogwarts.

Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched her back retreat.

"One day, Granger, you will pay for all those laughs at my expense," he began, whispering fiercely under his breath. "Oh yes, one day you will feel the cold wrath of--OOF!"

And picking himself up, spitting the snow out of his mouth and loudly cursing whatever tree branch had caused him to fall face first on the cold ground, Draco followed Hermione back to the castle, his eyes narrowed as he watched her shoulders shake uncontrollably with laughter.

__

"I mean, it's not like we can just say 'hey, we're dating' and everyone will be okay with that. No one would be okay with that."

Draco pushed a lock of hair away from her face, resisting the temptation to pin her beneath him and rip her silly school blouse away from her body. "I wouldn't call this dating," he said grimly, his eyes meeting hers before she looked away as her cheeks turned red.

"I know you never asked for this--I know you could never have guessed that it was me or that these would be the consequences of your actions . . ." she whispered softly as she felt his hand slide further up her blouse, her breath hitching as she felt his mouth on her throat.

"I didn't," he agreed firmly, his voice slightly muffled against her skin. "But just because I had no idea what would happen if I--" he cut off sharply as she slid her own fingers below the waistline of his trousers.

"Do . . . do you think that this . . . these feelings . . . have anything to do with it?" she asked, a gasp escaping her lips as Draco's fingers slid under her bra and grazed her nipple.

"Does it matter?" he asked suddenly, raising his face to meet her eyes.

Instead of answering, she brought her hands up, away from his waist and wrapped them around his head, pulling him into a fierce kiss.

The silent "no" echoed throughout the quiet room.

A/N: Cough Cough I'm so sorry this took so long, but a combination of moving across an ocean, an evil computer, horrible writer's block and this dire need to make this chapter really really _good_ has delayed its posting. I know, it's still not good enough, and I didn't incorporate even half the things I had planned to but I thought hey! I bet a nice, fluffy, snowy chapter of yummy Hermione/Draco ST with a sexy little flashback at the end would be enough to satisfy for the moment. And about the fact that Draco sings--I refuse to believe that Draco is a one-dimensional character, and, I'm sorry, but everyone I know has a few (if not many many) quirks to their character. And come on--who doesn't want to picture Tom Felton crooning carols as a Christmas present? No one? Oh, ermm, well just forget I mentioned it then. And yes, there is a slight nod to the Joss Whedon universe in Draco's actions at some parts in this chapter--please don't sue me! Anyway, I hope you guys like it and I hope it's worth all you time since I absolutely love all of you so much! 133 reviews--that's completely insane! I'm doing a pretty constant happy dance because of it. Thank you and loves,

--Taelyn


	10. Match Made in Heaven

The Phoenix and Turtle

By Taelyn

Chapter: 10: Match Made in Heaven

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-righteous, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

"I love you so much--I can't believe I've never realized it before . . . ."

"We were both stupid; it's not your fault."

"How could we have stayed apart so long--how could I have not noticed how perfect you were for me?"

"It doesn't matter now, now that we're together, now that--"

"_Ahem"_

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle turned around quickly, dropping each other's hands and taking a step back to put space between themselves. Evidently the conversation they had been having hadn't been as soft as they thought.

"I always wondered about you two," Hermione said, her eyebrows raised far up on her forehead and a smile playing on her lips as she stepped forward through the doorway. "And trust me when I say that you do make a great couple, but . . ." she gestured around her, "I'm sure that neither of you are prefects and am therefore very puzzled as to why you decided to rendez-vous in the prefect's bathroom of all places."

Crabbe looked at the white marble ground and muttered indistinctly about the cinnamon scented bubbles while Goyle studied the ceiling silently. Hermione sighed. It was too bloody bad that she only used her powers for good.

And slightly scary that she felt the sudden urge to smirk.

"Go," she said, feeling a sudden headache coming on. "I can trust you won't be helping Malfoy annoy any of my friends any time soon, can't I?" she went on, her voice insinuating blackmail.

Goyle squinted through his small eyes at her, a puzzled look on his face--which was just as surprising to Hermione as the scene she had walked in on moments before. Goyle had yet to grunt and crack his knuckles once, and Crabbe was collecting the dry towels that the couple had not had the chance to use.

"Malfoy hasn't been in the mood to do anything to any of you Gryffindors lately," Goyle said, looking eerily thoughtful.

Hermione looked down to hide the slight and sudden coloring of her cheeks, a reaction she couldn't understand the reason behind. "Well," she said, almost surly, "hurry up and get back to your common room. And no stopping in any dark corridors, either," she finished as she looked up in time to catch the furtive looks exchanged between the two burly Slytherins.

They nodded sheepishly and left quickly, and Hermione sat down beside the pool-size bathtub to steady herself. She had just witnessed a sleuth of emotions on the faces of Crabbe and Goyle moments after she had caught them nearly kissing.

Perhaps the cold weather had done more to her health then she had primarily thought.

Stripping down to her bathing suit, she stepped into the already prepared bath and sighed, relaxing into the warm foam and water. Surprisingly, she absolutely agreed with Crabbe. The night's trek through the cold halls had been completely worth those damn cinnamon bubbles.

As she treaded water, happy for the peace allowed her--as none of the prefects had had the same idea as she had--her mind started to wander.

She should have been in the mood to bite Crabbe and Goyle's heads clear of their wide shoulders, to screech and yell and then eat a quart of chocolate ice cream right out of the carton. But she was calm, hardly hungry and felt no need to rant on about the inferiority of men.

Five days ago, she had been late. Not to class of course, but more physically _late. _The kind of late that her mother had sat her down to talk about six years ago.

And there was no sign of a change today. The nightmare about the pregnancy test had been recurring every night, and Hermione was becoming illogically anxious. It was normal for her to skip a month once in a while, and her dreams had never proved prophetic.

More to the point, she would never . . . with _him _of all people . . . in the first place.

And yet.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she swam quickly back to the edge of the bath. Hoisting herself out and drying off, she refused to focus on anything more about Malfoy. And relaxing only seemed to lead to more thoughts.

Very unwelcome, confusing thoughts. She was suddenly beginning to sympathize with Crabbe and Goyle.

She needed to study, or to yell, or do anything but relax.

She needed to patrol anyway. Thank Merlin for Peeves.

Hermione Granger woke up the next morning in a panic. She was sure it was far past breakfast and that she had already missed part of her Arithmancy class. To top it all off, she didn't even remember if she had rechecked her Potions essay.

Then she remembered it was Sunday, and felt, for the first in her life that she could remember, relief that it wasn't a school day.

She didn't like this change. She also didn't like the fact that she had opened her eyes thinking about Draco Malfoy.

"I wish . . ." she began wistfully, never chancing to see how her mind would finish the sentence. Instead, she hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, intent on getting down to the infirmary as fast as she could.

As soon as Hermione walked into the door she spied Ginny. The sixth-year Gryffindor was staring calmly at a furious Madame Pomfrey, who was towering over her bed.

"You think that I'll believe that you _weren't_ whispering "they're coming to get you" in Christopher's ear as he was sleeping?" Hermione heard the school nurse say impatiently.

"Charm my heart and hope to die," Ginny said, all wide-eyed innocence. Hermione looked over to see that Ginny's neighbor--who was none other than the Head Boy--was cowering, only his eyes and the top of his head peeking out from the white sheets.

Madame Pomfrey left in a huff to see to her other patients, and Ginny stifled a giggle as Hermione walked toward her, her eyes raised in a silent question.

"Did you do that to him?" she asked, her voice low as she motioned to a pale Christopher.

"No," Ginny said sulkily. "Blaise got to him first. She did this stupid glamour spell and now he sees gigantic scorpions crawling on the ceiling."

Hermione gasped. "That's terrible," she said, wondering if she should criticize Ginny for making Christopher's stay in the infirmary much harder than it should have been. Instead, she only crossed her arms and asked "how did you get Madame Pomfrey to let you sleep in the bed beside him?"

"Oh, she didn't," Ginny said quickly, a smile playing on her lips. "I moved during the night, which is probably why she was so suspicious of me."

Hermione couldn't help it. A short laugh escaped her lips that made Christopher scowl. Ginny turned around and stuck her tongue out at the Ravenclaw before turning back to Hermione.

"I heard about your fight," Ginny said applauding silently. "I absolutely approve."

Hermione grinned. "He absolutely deserved it, didn't he?

"Definitely, and I can see that he gave as much as he got," Ginny said, pointing to the bruise low on Hermione's cheek.

Hermione winced. "Yes, well, I'm still so cold from the detention yesterday that it's still numb.

"Bastard," Ginny said under her breath.

Hermione suddenly didn't want to discuss Malfoy. She didn't have the nerves left to even think about him.

"So, how's Harry?" Hermione asked.

"He came away from the fight with Malfoy unharmed_, _but his momentarily cheery mood has disappeared," Ginny said, her face suddenly falling. "He yelled at Hedwig and then would hardly even talk to me. He's in the common room with Ron brooding over his perpetual darkness and finishing his Divination homework."

"He's been a lot happier ever since you two got together," Hermione said supportively watching as Ginny slumped back on to her pillow dejectedly.

"And yet, for the normal person, that's minimal good mood days. I know he's been through a lot, and, with all of the disappearances lately, he must be scared . . . ."

Hermione sighed. "Let's talk about something else Ginny," she said and her friend smiled gratefully.

"Thanks," she said, "now what's this new subject you are so readyand willing to discuss?"

Hermione smiled, and then sighed again. 'The hell with it,' she thought.

"Ginny, I have this friend, and, well, she's late," Hermione held her breath, hoping that her very transparent plan might work.

Ginny stared at her. "Hermione, Harry and I haven't had sex--"

Hermione turned bright red. "I know that--I didn't mean you or to insinsuate . . . " she exclaimed quickly. And then swallowed back at the slight wave of nausea caused by the image that had momentarily flashed through her head. "And--please don't ever tell me if you do."

Ginny frowned. "Then who is this friend?" she asked, confused. "Hermione, do you--"

But before she could say anything else, or make any further guesses, they heard the infirmary door creak open.

"Hermione? Are you in here?"

Ron walked in, avoiding the harsh stare of Madame Pomfrey and sidestepping several patients just about to leave.

Hermione looked up and smiled at him as he saw her.

"What do you want Ron?" asked Ginny exasperatedly.

Ron scowled at his sister. "To talk to Hermione _alone,"_ he said, his eyes narrowed.

"Well, I would ask all of these patients to leave, but I'm not exactly sure that Samuel can walk yet," Ginny snapped sarcastically. "If you need to talk to her, go outside." She turned to Hermione.

"I'll see you later, that is, unless anything interesting happens anytime soon that you might want to talk about," she said, her voice hinting at . . .what it was Hermione couldn't figure out, but Ron blushed red at her words.

"Bloody sisters."

Hermione turned around after carefully closing the door to the infirmary as quietly as possible.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Ron?" she asked, peering down at her skirt--which had hitched up as she sat beside Ginny on the bed--and moving quickly to push it back down over her legs.

The cloudiness in Ron's eyes cleared slightly as his line of vision moved quickly away from the part of her legs now covered by her skirt and further up her body.

Well, not _that _much further up her body.

"Ron," she snapped quickly, frowning as she watched the boy in front of her--her best friend of nearly seven years--choke and stutter as he tried to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Hermione--I--I," he began, his mouth suddenly dry and hot, the palms of his hands slick with sweat. It wasn't fair that, on this day of all days, strands of her hair had to fall so gracefully out of its bun to frame her face. That her cheeks had to be faintly rosy, that her jumper seemed to just perfectly hug her body, that her eyes--"

"Ron?"

"Ah yes," he said quickly, his mind snapping back to the task at hand. "Err, Hermione, can I ask you, erm, a . . . question?" he began, praying that his voice didn't really sound as hoarse and soft as it sounded inside his head.

Hermione pursed her lips, a slight frown suddenly on her face.

"Ron, if this is about Friday when I saw you looking at my paper in Charms, then yes, I did feel it necessary to tell Professor Flitwick that he might need to implement cover sheets or an anti-cheating spell for each exam."

"Hermione, I didn't cheat off--you're the one that gave him the idea to use anti-cheating spells? Hermione, why do you always have to be so difficult; it was only a weekly grade," Ron said angrily.

Hermione crossed her arms and tried unsuccessfully to look down her nose at the much taller boy. "Ronald Weasely, as Head Girl it is my duty--"

"Blah blah, we all know, Hermione, about your duties," he said irritably.

"Ron, if that's all you have to say, then we have nothing more to discuss," Hermione said, uncrossing her arms and stalking past him.

Ron closed his eyes, frustrated at his own temper. "Hermione, will you just bloody stop," he said, a hint of plea in his voice as he followed her down the hall.

"I will not, Ron, because it seems that--"

"I LIKE YOU," Ron nearly bellowed, causing Hermione to screech to a halt in front of him.

"What?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she slowly turned to face him.

Ron's ears turned bright red as he suddenly became very interested in the hall floor. "I like you," he muttered again, much more softly than the first time. "As much more than a friend."

Hermione didn't say anything as she felt the blush creeping back into her cheeks. Up until the end of sixth year she had been wishing to hear those words, finally giving up on it completely only after she heard about Ron's summer fling while in France. Now to hear what she had blown out candles, wished on stars, and crossed her fingers for less than a year ago was--

"I know that we've always only been friends and that you think there's still something there between me and Lilah--which there isn't--and that I'm springing this on you--" Ron rambled, unable to meet Hermione's eyes as he spoke to her. "--And that this comes a little late, this being seventh year and all, and with your Head Girl responsibilities you probably wouldn't be able to have a relationship, but do you want to? Have one--a relationship, I mean?"

He finally looked up, searching her face as she took in a breath, and opened her mouth to answer--

"Move out of the way, you ponce," Ron heard as he felt someone shove him out of the middle of the narrow hallway. He turned quickly, embarrassed that anyone had happened upon them during his very loud, very personal outburst.

"Go get stuffed, Malfoy," he spat as he watched the pale boy walk around him to stand in front of Hermione--who also was blocking his path.

Hermione looked up into Draco's eyes when he stopped close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. And for a moment she thought she saw something other than the cold arrogance that his face usually held. The word jealousy popped too quickly into her mind for her own comfort.

"Get out of my way mudblood," Draco hissed coldly, but making no move to physically move her.

Hermione winced almost unnoticeably at the slur, and Ron growled menacingly behind Malfoy, but she held up her hand to stop any attack he had in mind. She moved only enough so she could she Ron, still barring Draco's way past her.

"Don't worry Ron," she said icily, "he's not worth it." Her eyes returned to Malfoy as she said the last words, mirroring the coldness in his own gaze.

"And yes Ron," she continued, just as coolly. "I can think of nothing that would make me happier than to have a relationship with you," she said, her eyes never leaving Draco's face.

She expected a harsh remark from the Slytherin in front of her, but none came, and she moved aside to let him pass.

As soon as he was gone, Ron frowned after him.

"You should have let me hit him just once, Hermione," he said grimly, and then, finally realizing that she had answered his question, he smiled at her, and then returned to staring at the ground.

"So," he said, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. "Next Hogsmeade visit?" he asked, and Hermione smiled, banishing all of the unsettling thoughts of Draco Malfoy from her mind.

"Absolutely," she agreed, taking his hand in her own momentarily and squeezing it softly, before turning back towards the infirmary. Evidently, she did have something to tell.

Moments later, a completely red faced Hermione and a giggling Ginny emerged from the infirmary, nearly running down the halls as Madam Pomfrey burst out the doorway after them, her voice reverberating off the stone walls.

"--you ever let me see you in this infirmary again, Gineva Weasely, unless you're on the edge of death!" she said, pulling the door shut with a resounding crash.

Ginny looked over at Hermione, who seemed about torn between utter terror and amusement.

"Did you have any idea what those pills would do?" she asked Ginny, her voice trembling slightly.

"Oh, like he didn't deserve it," Ginny scoffed, linking arms with the girl beside her and nearly skipping down the hallway. "Like that curse that Blaise put on him _actually _taught him a lesson."

Hermione frowned. "He was carrying out his responsibilities as Head Boy in the first place," she said slightly angrily.

"--which you will have to carry out for him until our lovely Madame Pomfrey gets the boy off the ceiling," Ginny said, half-laughing at Hermione's serious countenance. "Now, on to more important things," she said, stopping in the hall and turning to face Hermione.

The older girl blushed. "Yes, well, we would have been able to discuss it earlier if you hadn't been so set on revenge, but, well--Ron asked me if I fancied a relationship with him."

Ginny's smile widened. "And . . . ?"

Hermione looked slightly embarrassed as she grinned back at the red-haired witch, who jumped up and down with glee at the unspoken affirmation.

"Took him long enough," she said, and smiling warmly, she looked closely at Hermione's face.

"Don't hurt him, or I'll have to beat you up," she joked good naturedly, and Hermione laughed.

"I promise I won't--I could never hurt Ron," she said, and Ginny nodded her head slightly.

"I know," said Ginny, becoming seriously silent for a moment before she looked back up at the girl next to her.

"Hermione, who were you talking about right before Ron--"

She stopped and Hermione turned around to see Harry walking toward them, grinning widely.

Ginny stared open-mouthed as he stopped in front of her, the girl not moving an inch even as he picked her up off the ground and began to kiss her fiercely.

Hermione rolled her eyes. There must be some sort of pheromones in the air today.

When Harry finally put Ginny back on the ground, she stood completely ridged, her breaths coming fast and her eyes closed.

"Wha-what was that for?" she asked, finally opening her eyes and staring at the beaming boy in front of her.

"They caught Bellatrix Lestrange outside Glasgow," he said and Hermione watched as pain flashed through his green eyes though his smile didn't waver. "She's now under heavy guard in an undisclosed location."

"That's great Harry," Hermione said, trying to hide her concern for her friend.

"That's not the end of it. That attack and that beast in Hogsmeade _last week_? The boy woke up and the authorities have concluded that it had nothing to do with Voldemort," he said happily, and Hermione suddenly understood that, if it had been, Harry would have probably felt guilty for the entire episode.

Ginny, without any warning, grabbed Harry around his neck and pulled him into a long kiss that Hermione looked quickly away from. When they finally broke off, both gasping, she placed her forehead on his and opened her eyes to meet his.

"It's nice that you're happy," she said, and Harry smiled completely for the girl in front of him.

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, could you maybe--" she began as she turned around, but Hermione was gone, disappearing from their sight and hurrying up to the common room.

"Hermione?" Ron asked as she burst into the Gryffindor common room.

"Ron, I have to talk to that boy," she said urgently. "The one in the hospital--I have to know what happened to him."

"Hermione calm down, just calm down," Ron said, getting up from his seat and walking over to her quickly. He went to put his arms around her, but she squirmed away.

"Do you think there's some way I can get to the hospital?" she asked quickly, ignoring him as he tried to get her to stand still.

"There's no way Dumbledore would let you go off school grounds, but Hermione--"

"Ron, you really don't understand--I have to know, please don't question me."

"Hermione! Please just listen to me!"

Hermione calmed down enough to look at him. "What, Ron?"

"I just talked to my father. I was here when Harry heard, when Dad told him what the boy said. I know what happened to him."

Hermione didn't say a word or move for a few moments. Then she sat down in one of the cushioned chairs and looked up at Ron.

"Tell me," she said simply.

"You don't understand," he said angrily, sitting up beside her. "My father has too many allies outside of Azkaban for either of us to ever be safe if this got out," he said harshly, and she stared at him.

"He'd have me killed," Hermione said simply, and Draco nodded. She got up quickly, pulling a sheet with her and causing Draco to nearly fall off the bed.

"I've been through more pain than you can imagine tonight," she hissed as he stared at her. "But this . . . what we have . . . I would go through this entire night again for what's happened between us. And you're asking me to pretend it never happened . . . to pretend . . ."

Her voice stopped, choked by tears and Draco immediately got up.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his arms closing around the trembling girl as she sobbed against his chest. "You're still weak Hermione," he said, and she looked up at him through clouded eyes, hiccupping loudly as she tried to get her crying under control.

"Di-didn't seem to be so weak earlier tonight," she half-joked as Draco led her back to the bed.

"Please, Hermione, lie down," he said softly.

She sniffed. "You're only saying that because I have the only sheet around me.

Draco smirked. "True," he said, looking down and realizing that he was naked. " I'd rather see you without the sheet than myself, I can't deny that."

Hermione laughed quietly, then turned suddenly serious as she looked at him.

"Hermione, what's wro--" Draco began to ask but never finished as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips urgently to his, the kiss equally demanding and vulnerable as her tongue slipped into his mouth. Groaning slightly, he gently broke the kiss.

"You're weak," he said breathlessly, finding both of them back on the bed, her naked form pressed into his. "And a few more minutes of this and I won't be able to stop.

Hermione sat back and nodded, trying to hide the oncoming and untimely yawn.

"This is actually the first time I've ever been glad that tomorrow isn't a school day," Hermione said, smiling sadly. "We'll talk in the morning?" she asked as she followed him up the bed and nestled into his arms.

"Tomorrow," he said, sure to cover the catch in his voice as he felt her breathing slow.

Hermione fell asleep smiling, scars from only hours ago already beginning to fade.

But Draco couldn't bring himself to close his eyes, studying the darkness that surrounded their entwined bodies much later into the night.

A/N: I actually finished this on July 31, but that was while I was at the beach sans internet access. Yes, about Crabbe and Goyle--_Who hasn't _had certain questions about their . . . relationship? Hem hem I really hope all of you like it though, especially since it's slowly, through the process of editing, turning out to be my favorite chapter so far. So, please please please review. I won't beg . . . Oh who am I kidding . . . I'll balance flaming torches on my nose for an opinion or two: please don't make me though. Last time that happened I almost lost an eye and then the Russian circus man had that restraining order put on me and . . . yeah well. Errrmm. Just a day in the life. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far--they make me a very happy camper. Or beach-goer. Oh whatever.

Thanks to everyone who pointed out mistakes in the last couple chapters: most of them were dumb mistakes that I should have caught--so thanks. And also: My computer screen won't brighten so I can only barely see what I'm writing right now--which also means that I can't do that last minute edit chack. So please forgive any slight errors and point them out to me.

Take care, Taelyn


	11. My Valiant Knight

The Phoenix and Turtle

By Taelyn

Chapter 11: My Valiant Knight

"_'It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are,_

far more than our abilities.'"

-JK Rowling, CoS

. . . "Tell me," she said simply.

Ron sighed and raked his hand through his hair, sitting down in a chair across from Hermione and reaching out to take her hand.

"It's complicated, Hermione," he said exasperatedly, "and what Dad told us was . . . It wasn't pleasant."

Hermione frowned suddenly and jerked her hands from between his.

"Ron, I was there in the Department of Mysteries in the Fifth Year. I faced Lupin and Sirius in third, and I helped in the challenges that Dumbledore set up to protect the stone. Don't patronize me just because we're becoming more than friends," she said, her voice perhaps more on edge than she meant it to be.

"I'm not patronizing you, it's just . . ." Ron said, frustration visibly building in his eyes.

"Ron, just tell me and stop treating me like a child," she snapped, uselessly angry at the fact that he was trying to protect her.

Ron's ears turned slightly pink, and he sat back away from her. "Fine," he said curtly.

"The boy--he's a fourth year in Ravenclaw--was walking back to Hogwarts after visiting Hogsmeade. Dad said that all he really remembers is everything going black and then this horrible pain, as if--"

"you could feel every single ounce of emotion ever felt," Hermione interrupted, her eyes becoming unfocused as she frowned pensively.

"How did you know that?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing as he studied the girl in front of him.

"Read it somewhere," Hermione said vaguely, "please, go on."

"Anyway, the boy said it was like he could feel all of the pain in the world, all of the terror

and anger. He said that it was destroying who he was, that the pain was . . . I don't know . . . taking him over."

Hermione sat, quietly thinking, as she listened to Ron's description.

"How . . .how did he escape it and kill it?" she asked, almost tentatively, as her mind raced.

"The thing is, he said he didn't. He said he thought he was going to die, and then it felt as if the monster was pulling away. He could almost feel his mind returning to him. Then he blacked out."

"So no one has any idea how this thing was killed?" Hermione asked, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

Ron shook his head, watching her intently as he tried to find the right words to say to her.

"Hermione . . . I'm sorry," he began, stuttering slightly as he looked down at his lap.

"For what?" she asked, her mind clearing as she focused on his reddened face.

"If I had known that . . . that thing was out there that night, I never would have left you to walk back to the school alone," he said, looking up to meet her eyes, his own pleading silently for some sort of forgiveness.

Hermione's worried expression returned as she studied his face.

"So the last time I was with you that night was in Hogsmeade?" she asked.

"Ye-yes," Ron said, stumbling over the answer in a tone frank with confusion. "I went back with Ginny and Harry so I could copy . . . err . . .help Harry write his transfiguration assignment. Don't you remember?"

Hermione frowned, and then pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Headaches were always so much fun when profound thoughts were called for.

"Of course," she said, sighing as she pushed the strands of her in her face behind her ears.

"Look Ron, I know we need to talk, but . . . I have something to do."

She got up out of the chair abruptly, and Ron stood up after her, following her as she quickly rushed to the exit.

"Hermione, are you sure we're okay?" he asked to her back as she slipped out of the portrait hole.

When her response was too muffled for him to even make out, he sighed and slouched down in a chair again, turning his face to study the fire as the portrait hole swung closed.

Draco,

It has come to my attention that the first Quidditch match of the season was cancelled due to inclement weather conditions, and, because there is no other reason to come, I will not be visiting you this winter.

The Ministry has not yet scheduled a date for your father's appeal, but we have decided to keep the manor and all of the Malfoy business running in his absence, meaning that we will not be joining the Parkinson's at their estate for Christmas and also will have little time for festivities. I will send an escort to meet you at the station and will expect you home before tea.

Your father sends his regards and reminds you that your loyalties, especially in these trying times, lie with your family above all else.

I look forward to your homecoming.

All my love, Your Mother

Draco stared at the spindly script on the piece of parchment in front of him, his frustration growing as he read further and further into the letter.

"Go away," he snapped at his owl as it searched his robes for a treat. Obviously very offended, it left in a flash of feathers, but not before biting him hard on his finger.

"Stupid bloody bird," Draco mumbled, checking to make sure the owl hadn't broken the skin and then returning his gaze to the letter.

Family loyalty. What his father meant was be ready to become a Death Eater at any time, and don't shame the family.

His eyes clouded over as he thought about the conversations he had shared with a certain muggleborn, and his scowl deepened as the path in his mind led to the clear memory of the Saturday morning that they had woken up side by side.

'Father would have me murdered if he knew,' Draco thought grimly, crumpling the parchment and dropping it in the bin next to the table.

The library was completely deserted of people. At the news that the boy from Ravenclaw had woke, most had gone scurrying to their common rooms or some other place of social meeting. He had followed, overheard most of the story from a loud lower year, and then retreated into the back of the library after his eagle owl had found him and delivered the letter.

First Blaise, now his father--did they think that, for one moment, he could forget his duty towards his family? Obviously with relatives such as his own, it was impossible.

And yet, the nagging memory of the detention he had served . . . of Granger's reverie at his singing, at the way the snow seemed to cling to her eyelashes.

He had forgotten. That entire afternoon, his mind had not once reminded him of house or blood loyalties.

"Horrible," he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and massaging his temples as he rested his elbows on the table in front of him.

"What exactly?" said a too-crisp voice from behind him.

Draco slouched further into the chair, opening his eyes but making no move to turn around as he stared at the bookcase in front of him.

"You," he said, groaning as Hermione moved around him and into view.

"Tisk tisk, Draco--hardly a creative comeback," she said as he looked up at her.

Hermione was dressed only in her school uniform, her robes probably discarded in her room, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. She was clutching a book in her arms almost like a child would hold on to a security blanket, and her cheeks were still red--from what Draco could only guess.

"What do you want, Granger," he asked, letting more exhaustion slip into his tone than he meant to. Hermione studied him for a moment before sitting down in the chair across from him.

"We need to talk about that night," she said, and Draco looked quickly around, eyes searching for any eavesdroppers.

"Say it louder--I don't think the class in the Astronomy Tower heard you," he hissed as he turned back around to face her.

"No one's here, you paranoid little git," she said, frustrated already at the fact that he could make her so furious in so short a time.

"Well then, let's by all means discuss such a sensitive topic at the top of our voices," he said caustically, hoping she would get angry enough at him to leave.

"You're not getting out of this Malfoy," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "We need to talk about it sooner or later, and--"

"No we don't," he cut in. "We don't have to talk about it. We need to forget about it and go about our normal lives, hopefully staying blessedly separate from now on."

Hermione glared at him. "We can't have our normal lives with this huge occurrence in our past, Malfoy," she said, her countenance undulating fury as she got out of the chair and started pacing. "The only way we can resolve this is to find out what happened--"

"Just like a Gryffindor, making sure to become recklessly involved in stupid plans that won't solve anything," Draco snapped, getting up out of his seat too and moving towards her.

Hermione stopped pacing as she watched him approach. He came within inches of her, and she could barely see the scars on his cheek, almost completely faded.

"I can't have a normal life--" she began, her eyes slits as she met his gaze.

"You seem to be just fine," he said, interrupting her mercilessly as his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hard voice edged with curiosity.

"You and Weasely seem to be 'having a normal life' just fine right now," he said, regretting it immediately afterwards but too angry to stop.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise as she digested his comment. She closed it quickly and set her jaw.

"What goes on between Ron and I is quite obviously none of your business," she said, pushing past him and moving towards the table where she had set down her book.

A small part of Draco realized that he had won--that she was leaving like he had wanted her to. But every feeling of anger and frustration that had been coursing through his system in the past week was suddenly blinding him.

"You come in here, all red-cheeked from Merlin-knows-what activity you and that red-haired sod have been up to and--"

"What?!!" Hermione turned around, shock obvious on her face as she whirled around to face him. The look on his face nearly sent her flying at him, but instead she tried to control her anger.

"You know what? Fine, Malfoy, fine. I'll stay away from you as long as you stay the hell away from me," she said, visibly shaking from the suppressed anger.

"It would be my bloody pleasure," Draco nearly yelled, obviously not caring anymore about the volume of their conversation.

She turned again, reached for the book, and was about to make her way out of the library.

But something in Draco made him snap. He wasn't ready for her to leave.

"You kissed him, didn't you?" he asked, his eyes hard, his mouth clenched in a scowl.

Hermione stared at him, completely unbelieving what she had heard. "Excuse me?"

"Did. You. Kiss. Him?" he asked. "Do I have to make myself any clearer?"

Hermione's eyes bulged. "Are you completely insane?" she sputtered, turning slightly red under his very fierce gaze.

"I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "I knew you had--stupid mudblood whore that you are."

Hermione gasped sarcastically. "Now that's creative Malfoy, really, I don't think you've used that one before."

"Stupid ugly cow," he muttered, and Hermione, completely distracted from the topic at hand, felt suddenly as if she needed to lash out at him.

"Well at least I'm not some vain peacock, strutting around and spending hours perfecting charms for his hair," she said, if slightly childishly, and she reached up to mess up his hair.

"I mean, Merlin Malfoy, do you use shellac to keep it in place?" she questioned mockingly, her hands avoiding his grasp to tug at his head.

He finally caught both her hands and pulled her closer towards him.

"Don't," he said, as menacingly as possible, "Don't touch the hair."

He expected her to shrink back at the cold tone of his voice, but instead of cringing from his threat, she stared at him wide-eyed, and then burst out laughing.

'This seems to be happening too bloody often,' he thought, as he tried to figure out what had the girl before him in hysterics.

"What?" he asked, his voice coming out more whiny and high pitched than he meant it to, which only sent Hermione into another fit of giggles. "What?"

He pushed her back, away from him, quickly checking to make that his hair was still in place, and then looking back over at the girl before him.

She was red and out of breath as she recovered, and to try to regain control of her breathing, she reached out to steady herself on his shoulder.

Of course, Draco hardly expected that. And, with relatively no control and less grace, he fell backwards, trying to steady himself on Hermione but only pulling her backwards as he fell.

His back hit the ground moments before their bodies connected. Surprisingly enough, in the moment before, his mind registered that the air had not been knocked out of him.

And then they connected. Knee to knee, chest to chest, and, before either of them could stop it, their lips met as Hermione crashed down onto him.

Both too surprised to move, they lay there, Hermione on top of Draco, their lips pushed together by the force of the fall.

And suddenly the astonishment faded, and yet their mouths were still locked in a soft kiss. Hermione closed her eyes as she felt his hands snake up into her hair, and she moved her

mouth slightly against his as he her head closer.

'Stop! Stop!" her mind screamed as she felt his tongue press against her lips, but the adrenaline that was pumping through her system seemed to take over as she opened her mouth. Suddenly, all she could feel and think about was Draco Malfoy.

And memories flashed through her mind.

Harry's face as he faced Draco on the steps in first year--

The Slytherin's taunting her mercilessly about her appearance and parents--

Draco's face as he called her a mudblood for the first time--

The slap--

The bouncing Ferret, Slugs, Voldemort, Ron--

Hermione pulled out of the kiss abruptly as Ron's red hair and freckles popped into her mind, the image disappearing quickly as she felt Draco moan softly under her.

She knew long before she opened her eyes that he was breathing just as hard as she was--she felt his heartbeat and his quickened breathing through what seemed like an extremely thin layer of clothing. Her own breasts were pressed tight against his chest, and they shared the same breaths as she tried to convince her eyes to open.

When they finally did, Hermione blushed scarlet red.

The look in his eyes was fierce, to say the least. But it was the reflection of her own face in his pale gaze, the sight of her pupils dilated and her hair mussed around her face, that sent hot blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Oh my," she said, gasping slightly as Draco shifted under her. "Ow."

Draco frowned. "I didn't quite expect that reaction," he muttered, watching as Hermione's face screwed up in obvious pain.

"Ow, ow, ow," she continued, trying to twist around, and Draco leaned up, looking over both of their bodies to see what she was exhausting herself to look at.

"Dammit," he said immediately, realizing that her ankle had been caught between his own body and the table during the fall--and was twisted at an unnatural angle away from her.

"Is it bad?" Hermione asked nearly breathlessly as Draco tried to move out from under her.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he asked, harsher than he meant to as he tried to

push the sight of her lips and the feel of her body against his own from his mind.

It amazed him how angry she could look while in so much pain.

"You complete prick," she began, the words barely above a whisper as she fought to breath.

"This is your fault, and you have the gall to speak to me that way?"

Draco scowled. "My fault?" he asked incredulously, crouching down beside her after wiggling his way out from under her. "I wasn't the one who decided to send us both tumbling to the floor for Merlin only knows what perverted reason."

"You're the one who I seem to remember was copping a feel, Malfoy," Hermione spat angrily, twisting out of his grasp as he tried to put his arms under her. "What are you doing?" she snapped, wincing as her ankle seemed to throb even harder.

Draco gritted his teeth.

"We haven't reached the lesson in Charms on levitating humans, and, unless I'm very mistaken, neither of us have our wands anyway."

Hermione glowered at him, knowing he was right and cursing herself from not grabbing her wand out of her robes before she came looking for him. How, all of the sudden, had she become so airheaded?

The answer to her internal question kept talking as he again moved to pick her up.

"You need to get to the Infirmary, and, as much as it would be quite amusing to leave you in the middle of the library completely incapacitated, I'm on thin ice with the Headmaster already."

Hermione opened her mouth to object as he lifted her off the floor, but the pain that shot up her leg stopped the words in her throat.

"Merlin, Granger, how many bricks do you have hidden in that uniform of yours?" he asked, hoping to make the fact that, as he stood up, her body began to press closer to his own--which, without his permission, responded immediately.

"You really are a prat," Hermione sputtered out, her hands moving around his neck as she frowned up at him. "First you insult me, then you kiss me, then you insult me even more--"

"I did not kiss you," he almost yelled, moving quickly towards the door of the library as he forced his mind to picture Millicent Bulstrode in red silk lingerie. It seemed to work.

"Well, I certainly didn't kiss you," Hermione retorted, looking flustered at the memory.

"Fine--it was a complete mistake on both our parts: a horrible accident," Draco said matter of factly, eyeing the girl in his arms as he said the words. She nodded her head in agreement.

"A terrible, disgusting mistake," she conceded emphatically as she forced herself to keep from relaxing against his chest.

"Wait--hey!" Draco began suddenly. "How was it disgusting?" he spluttered, cursing himself as she looked at him, bewildered.

"I mean, I'm sure I'm not a bad kisse, and . . . " he trailed off, his gaze intent on the wall ahead of him as waited for her reaction.

Hermione would have blushed even redder if it was physically possible. "Fine," she said slowly, "it wasn't a disgusting mistake, per se--it was just a mistake."

"Completely," Draco said quickly.

"Totally," Hermione agreed.

"A stupid, unlucky . . . " Draco's voice trailed off as he looked back at the girl in his arms.

It was a simultaneous movement of both that caused the embrace--Draco dipping down as Hermione moved up towards him, the kiss furious and far from the hesitant kiss they had shared moments before.

Draco tried to move her in his arms into a more comfortable position, his hands awkwardly manoeuvring her body as neither felt themselves capable to pull away.

When Hermione realized how bad of a job Draco was doing, she broke the kiss with a soft laugh against his mouth, causing him to smile grimly against her lips before pulling away.

The throbbing pain suddenly registered again in Hermione's brain as she stared silently at Draco.

"I guess . . ." he began, "that that wasn't an accident?"

"I don't think it was a mistake either," Hermione whispered, later blaming her lapse in sanity on the current of hormones rushing through her system.

"Dammit," Draco said, still holding her tightly in his arms as he sighed angrily.

Hermione bit her lip, fighting hard not to show how painful her leg really was.

"Draco, I think I really need to get to the Infirmary," she said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

His eyes grew wide as she looked at him, she just as astonished at her own slip of the tongue.

"I meant Malfoy," she said quickly as he stared at her. "I meant to say Malfoy."

"Granger," he began softly, his voice hesitant and confused, his face showing frankly the turmoil of his thoughts.

"Get your hands off her Malfoy!"

Hermione jumped at the caustic voice that came suddenly from behind them. She heard Draco muttered, "Oh Merlin, not now," before she was dropped to the floor.

Not as gently as she, perhaps, would have like to have been.

"Ow!" she screeched indignantly, looking up at the figure that stood over her. He glanced down, his face almost apologetic, before looking back up and moving backwards just in time to evade the punch meant to connect with his jaw.

"You stupid bastard, how dare you?" Ron yelled, advancing past Hermione and towards the retreating Draco.

"How dare I what?" Draco asked, wearily avoiding the constant punches thrown at his face. If anything, the morbid curiosity as to how much Weasley had seen was enough to keep him from running fast away from the increasingly angry redhead.

"I saw you holding her," Ron bit out, snarling as he tried to close the gap between his opponent and himself.

"That's all?" Draco asked, half-relieved as Ron stared at him, momentarily frozen in place as he digested his words.

"Of course that's all, what's that supposed to--"

"Hello? Boys? Injured party here?" they both heard, Ron turning around to look at Hermione for the first time.

"Hermione, you're hurt!" he exclaimed as he rushed towards her.

"Well, Granger, you've certainly got a smart one there," Draco said, the arrogance sliding easily back into his voice.

Hermione glared at him, angry if only because she found a voice in her head agreeing with his remark.

"I'll leave you two alone to sort out this mess," Draco continued as Ron glared at him.

"What did you do?" he said, his voice hoarse with anger.

"He did nothing, Ron," Hermione said, ignoring Draco as the Slytherin raised his eyebrows suggestively at her words. She squared her shoulders. "It was an _accident."_

The sneer disappeared from his face as Draco surveyed Hermione.

"A mistake," he supplied, setting his jaw and ignoring Ron's glare.

Hermione dropped her eyes to the floor and nodded her assent.

Draco scowled. "As I see my . . . skills here won't be needed any further . . .," he said, a hint in his voice that caused Ron to look at him questioningly.

Hermione looked up, her eyes hard as she met his gaze. "I'd hardly call them skills, Malfoy," she hissed.

Draco smirked at her, and, ignoring Ron completely, he moved towards Hermione, bending down when he reached her.

For a moment, Hermione thought that he was going to kiss her again. Her sharp intake of breath in response caused his sneer to grow as he surveyed her face up close.

"Have fun explaining that blush to your boyfriend, Hermione," he whispered softly enough that only she could hear, moving away from her before she had the chance to retaliate.

And, as he heard her shriek in fury from behind him, as he heard Ron ask what was the matter and her answer in a low mumble, as he pictured that livid face of hers again, he suddenly had the urge to turn around and confess to Ron exactly what part of their interactions he had missed.

Instead, he kept walking back towards his room.

Fifteen minutes later, after an excruciatingly cold shower, he finally realized that he had called her by her first name without meaning to.

Sighing, he slipped out of his robe again, walked back into the bathroom and switched the freezing water back on.

He had several shopping bags with him, able to afford nearly half of Hogsmeade after receiving the owl of galleons his mother had sent him.

It was late and he had left Crabbe and Goyle behind hours ago to keep Pansy occupied and away from him. Blaise had decided to stay at school for the night, perhaps find a way to torture the house elves into letting slip the password for the Gryffindor common room.

The road back to school was completely deserted as he strode along.

And then a shriek pierced the silence, and Draco suddenly saw a dark hulking figure move away from another, much smaller figure and towards what was quite obviously a woman.

'Back away,' his mind told him. 'You're not like those idiot Gryffindors that go barrelling into perilous situations without half a thought.

But Draco pushed back the thought. To upstage Potter, he would have to fight fire with fire.

And hoping he wasn't about to step straight into sudden death, he reached inside his robes for his wands, and quickly moved towards the figures.

"Pleasant night, isn't it?"

A/N: Sigh. Too OOC? Grr. I'm really not too happy with this chapter, but it's been really really difficult to write. So sorry if this is hardly . . . I'm guessing the word is at all good. Anyway, people are obviously beginning to figure things out . . . I am getting close to the end. Of course, I'm not sure whether to end it or write a sequel. Again: sigh. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think--and how I can fix this chapter since it's annoying the hell out of me. And I know that the interruptions are getting a little . . . hard to believe, but trust me when I say that I'm modelling it after my own lovely romance life and all of the fun chaos it's become. Hurrah for real life. _Please review _though--I miss my old house, I miss my old town, country, continent, etc, and I'd really like a friendly voice or two. It takes two seconds and it means the world to me.

Take care (and I love you anyway--even if you don't review), Taelyn

PS: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I mean really, when I say that I am eternally grateful, I mean it. If you ever need a kidney or a lung or anything (except for a house-sitter, since I've found I'm not so good at that), just ask.


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